THE  WIDE  WIDE  WORLD 


/ 

m. 


I 


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'Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand: 
Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 
One  touch  of  that  mighty  wand." 


Page  511. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852, 
BY  G.  P.  PUTNAM  AND  COMPANY, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


COPYRIGHT,  1878,  BY  SUSAN  WARNER 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY. 


•Education 

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PRINTED  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY,  PHILADELPHIA 


w 
CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 


PAOB 


I. — BREAKING  THE  NEWS 

II. — GIVES  SORROW  TO  THE  WINDS 15 

III.— THE  WORTH  OP  A  FINGER-RING 26 

IV.— THE  BITTER-SWEET  OP  LIFE 36 

V. — A  PEEP  INTO  THE  WIDE  WORLD 43 

VI. — NIGHT  AND  MORNING 56 

VII.—"  STRANGERS  WALK  AS  FRIENDS" 65 

VIII.— LEAVES  us  IN  THE  STREET 76 

IX.— THE  LITTLE  QUEEN  IN  THE  ARM-CHAIR ....  88 

X. MUD — ANJB.WHAT    CAME   OP    IT 101 

XI.— RUNNING  AWAY  WITH  THE  BROOK      114 

XII.— SPLITTERS 123 

XIII.— HOPE  DEFERRED 130 

XIV.— WORK  NOT   DEFERRED 137 

XV.— MOTHER  EARTH  RATHER  THAN  AUNT  FORTUNE 145 

XVI.— COUNSEL,  CAKES,  AND  CAPTAIN  PARRY 156 

XVII.— DIFFICULTY  OF  DOING  RIGHT 170 

XVIII.— LOSES  CARE  ON  THE  CAT'S   BACK 181 

XIX.— SHOWING  THAT  IN  SOME  CIRCUMSTANCKS  WHITE  is  BLACK  .    .  194 

XX. — HEADSICK  AND  HEARTSICK 201 

XXI. — FOOTSTEPS  OF  ANGELS 216 

XXII.— SHOWS  HOW  MR.  VAN  BRUNT  COULD    BE   SHARP    UPON   SOME 

THINGS 227 

XXIII.— How  Miss  FORTUNE  WENT  OUT  AND  PLEASURE  CAMK  IN         .  236 

XXIV. — SWEEPING  AND  DUSTING 244 

XXV. — SHOWING  WHAT  A  NOISE  A  BEE  CAN  MAKE  WHEN  IT  GETS  INTO 

THE  HOUSE 252 

XXVI. — SUNDRY  THINGS  ROUND  A  POT  OF    CHOCOLATE 265 

XXVIL— THE  JINGLING  OF  SLEIGH-BELLS     ...        279 

XXVIII.— SCRAPS— OP  MOROCCO  AND  TALK 288 

XXIX. — STOCKINGS,  TO  WHICH  THE  "BAS  BLEU"  WAS  NOTHING.    .    .    .  298 

XXX.— SUNDAY  AT  VENTNOR 305 

XXXI.— FLOWERS  AND  THORNS 314 

XXXII.— THE  BANK-NOTE  AND  GEORGE  WASHINGTON 326 

XXXIII. — A  GATHERING  CLOUD  IN   THE  SPRING  WEATHER 334 

XXXIV.— THE  CLOUD  OVERHEAD 342 

XXXV.— THIS  "  WORKING-DAY  WORLD" 353 

XXXVI.— THE  BROWNIE 371 

XXXVII.— TIMOTHY  AND  His  MASTER 381 

XXXVIII. — WHEREIN  THE  BLACK  PRINCE   ARRIVES  OPPORTUNELY  ....  393 

XXXIX.— HALCYON   DAYS 403 

XL.— "  PRODIGIOUS  !" 416 

XLL— "THE  CLOUDS  RETURN  AFTER  THE  RAIN" 425 

XLII.— ONE  LESS  IN  THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD 434 

XLIII. — THOSE  THAT  WERE  LEFT ....  444 

XLIV. — THE  LITTLE  SPIRIT  THAT  HAUNTED  THE  BIG  HOUSE        ...  454 

XLV.— THE  GUARDIAN  ANGET 468 

XLVI. — "SOMETHING  TURNS  UP" 482 

XLVII.— THE  WIDE  WORLD  GROWS  WIDER 498 

XLVIII. — How  OLD   FRIENDS  WERE  INVESTED  WITH   THE   REGALIA  .    .  511 

XLIX.— THOUGHT  is  FREE 527 

L.— TRIALS  WITHOUT 538 

LI.— TRIALS  WITHIN 548 

LII.— "Tnou!" 556 

1*  5 


283 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand" Frontispiece.        g 

Head-piece  to  Chapter  I -,  -. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  mother  ?       

"  Her  little  daughter  was  now  preparing  the  tea'     . ^ 

Mrs.  Montgomery's  head  sank  upon  the  open  page    .        

Ellen,  in  surprise,  took  them  from  him"    . ' 

And  there  she  slept  till  the  dinner-bell  rang " 

Ellen  was  at  length  safely  stowed  in  her  place JJ 

You'll  have  to  go  down  to  the  spout"  ....        

Ellen  set  out  upon  her  perilous  journey      .    . 

"  The  gentle  cows  standing  quietly  to  be  milked 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  child?" •       fi 

"Oh    Ellen!    take  him  off!" :    •  .  •    ' 

"  A  woman  was  there  stepping  briskly  back  and  forth  before  a  large  spinning-    ^  ^ 

wheel" la/. 

"  In  a  few  minutes  he  came  in  sight"    ........       

"  He  finished  the  hymn  without  more  interruption | 

"  What's  become  of  that  'ere  rocking-cheer  ?" • 

"  As  soon  as  she  was  set  free  Ellen  brought  her  Bible" **» 

"  Here's  something  for  'most  all  of  you,  I'm  thinking" £»» 

"  Alice  started  to  her  feet  with  a  slight  scream^ •       < 

"The  wide  lawns  were  a  smooth  spread  of  snow" 2Q9 

"  I  am  going  to  look  at  my  stocking" ^2 

"  Now  look  out  again,  Ellie,  and  listen"   •    •    •    •    • 005 

"  Ellen  watched  him  as  the  bunch  grew  injiis  hand       

"  Always  a  basket  for  flowers  went  along" •    ' 

"Here,  get  out  of  the  way,  I'll  do  it  for  you" 

"  What  a  lovely  little  horse  !" 386 

"Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  lying  in  the  lower  floor' '    4QI 

"  Ellen  hardly  saw  how,  it  was  so  quick"  •••••„ '    422 

"  They  seemed  in  great  doubt,  every  sheep^of  them •    ^ 

"  I  think  the  messenger  has  come  for  me" 

"  Ellen  went  next  to  the  two  old  women" i   .    •    •    • 

"  The  hours  thus  spent  were  to  Ellen  hours  of  unmixed  delight     .    ,    .    -    .    «d 

"  Mayn't  I  come  back,  if  ever  I  can  ?" ^ 

"  Why  don't  you  drink  your  wine,  Ellen  ?".    . 2g 

"  A  glass  door  opened  upon  a  small  iron  balcony 

"  Mr.  Lindsay  stood  still  at  the  door" 56Q 

"  The  calm  firm  grasp  of  his  hand  quieted  her" 


Enjoy  the  spring  of  love  and  youth, 
To  some  good  angel  leave  the  rest, 

For  time  will  teach  thee  soon  the  truth, 
"  There  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nest." 

LONGFELLOW. 

what  was  that  I  heard  papa  saying  to  you 
this  morning  about  his  lawsuit?" 
"  I  cannot  tell  you  just  now.     Ellen,  pick  up  that 
shawl,  and  spread  it  over  me." 
"  Mamma  ! — are  you  cold  in  this  warm  room  ?" 
"  A  little, — there,  that  will  do.     Now,  my  daughter,  let  me  be 
quiet  awhile — don't  disturb  me." 

There  was  no  one  else  in  the  room.  Driven  thus  to  her  own 
resources,  Ellen  betook  herself  to  the  window  and  sought  amuse 
ment  there.  The  prospect  without  gave  little  promise  of  it.  Rain 
was  falling,  and  made  the  street  and  everything  in  it  look  dull  and 
gloomy.  The  foot-passengers  plashed  through  the  water,  and  the 
horses  and  carriages  plashed  through  the  mud ;  gayety  had  for 
saken  the  sidewalks,  and  equipages  were  few,  and  the  people  that 
were  out  were  plainly  there  only  because  they  could  not  help  it. 
But  yet  Ellen,  having  seriously  set  herself  to  study  everything  that 
passed,  presently  became  engaged  in  her  occupation  ;  and  her 
thoughts  travelling  dreamily  from  one  thing  to  another,  she  sat 
for  a  long  time  with  her  little  face  pressed  against  the  window 
frame,  perfectly  regardless  of  all  but  the  moving  world  without. 

9 


10  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Daylight  gradually  faded  away,  and  the  street  wore  a  more  and 
more  gloomy  aspect.  The  rain  poured,  and  now  only  an  occasional 
carriage  or  footstep  disturbed  the  sound  of  its  steady  pattering. 
Yet  still  Ellen  sat  with  her  face  glued  to  the  window  as  if  spell 
bound,  gazing  out  at  every  dusky  form  that  passed,  as  though  it 
had  some  strange  interest  for  her.  At  length,  in  the  distance, 
light  after  light  began  to  appear ;  presently  Ellen  could  see  the 
dim  figure  of  the  lamplighter  crossing  the  street,  from  side  to  side, 
with  his  ladder ;  then  he  drew  near  enough  for  her  to  watch  him 
as  he  hooked  his  ladder  on  the  lamp-irons,  ran  up  and  lit  the  lamp, 
then  shouldered  the  ladder  and  marched  off  quick,  the  light  glancing 
on  his  wet  oil-skin  hat,  rough  great  coat  and  lantern,  and  on  the 
pavement  and  iron  railings.  The  veriest  moth  could  not  have  fol 
lowed  the  light  with  more  perseverance  than  did  Ellen's  eyes, 
till  the  lamplighter  gradually  disappeared  from  view,  and  the  last 
lamp  she  could  see  was  lit ;  and  not  till  then  did  it  occur  to  her 
that  there  was  such  a  place  as  in-doors.  She  took  her  face  from 
the  window.  The  room  was  dark  and  cheerless ;  and  Ellen  felt 
stiff  and  chilly.  However,  she  made  her  way  to  the  fire,  and 
having  found  the  poker,  she  applied  it  gently  to  the  Liverpool  coal 
with  such  good  effect  that  a  bright  ruddy  blaze  sprang  up,  and 
lighted  the  whole  room.  Ellen  smiled  at  the  result  of  her  experi 
ment.  "That  is  something  like,"  said  she  to  herself;  "who  says 
I  can't  poke  the  fire  ?  Now,  let  us  see  if  I  can't  do  something 
else.  Do  but  see  how  those  chairs  are  standing — one  would  think 
we  had  had  a  sewing- circle  here — there,  go  back  to  your  places, — 
that  looks  a  little  better ;  now  these  curtains  must  come  down,  and 
I  may  as  well  shut  the  shutters  too  ;  and  now  this  table-cloth  must 
be  content  to  hang  straight,  and  mamma's  box  and  the  books  must 
lie  in  their  places,  and  not  all  helter-skelter.  Now,  I  wish  mamma 
would  wake  up  ;  I  should  think  she  might.  I  don't  believe  she  is 
asleep  either,  she  don't  look  as  if  she  was." 

Ellen  was  right  in  this ;  her  mother's  face  did  not  wear  the  look 
of  sleep,  nor  indeed  of  repose  at  all :  the  lips  were  compressed,  and 
the  brow  not  calm.  To  try,  however,  whether  she  was  asleep  or 
not,  and  with  the  half-acknowledged  intent  to  rouse  her  at  all  events, 
Ellen  knelt  down  by  her  side  and  laid  her  face  close  to  her  mother's 
on  the  pillow.  But  this  failed  to  draw  either  word  or  sign.  After 
a  minute  or  two  Ellen  tried  stroking  her  mother's  cheek  very  gently  ; 
and  this  succeeded,  for  Mrs.  Montgomery  arrested  the  little  hand 
as  it  passed  her  lips,  and  kissed  it  fondly  two  or  three  times. 

"  I  haven't  disturbed  you,  mamma,  have  I  ?"  said  Ellen. 

Without  replying,  Mrs.  Montgomery  raised  herself  to  a  sitting 
posture,  and  lifting  both  hands  to  her  face,  pushed  back  the  hair 
from  her  forehead  and  temples,  with  a  gesture  which  Ellen  knew 
meant  that  she  was  making  up  her  mind  to  some  disagreeable  or 


"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  mother  ?' 


Page  11. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  \\ 

painful  effort.  Then  taking  both  Ellen's  hands,  as  she  still  knelt 
before  her,  she  gazed  in  her  face  with  a  look  even  more  fond  than 
usual,  Ellen  thought,  but  much  sadder  too ;  though  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery's  cheerfulness  had  always  been  of  a  serious  kind. 

"  What  question  was  that  you  were  asking  me  awhile  ago,  my 
daughter  ?" 

"  I  thought,  mamma,  I  heard  papa  telling  you  this  morning,  or 
yesterday,  that  he  had  lost  that  lawsuit." 

"  You  heard  right,  Ellen, — he  has  lost  it,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
sadly. 

"  Are  you  sorry,  mamma? — does  it  trouble  you?" 
"  You  know,  my  dear,  that  I  am  not  apt  to  concern  myself  over 
much  about  the  gain  or  the  loss  of  money.     I  believe  my  Heavenly 
Father  will  give  me  what  is  good  for  me." 
"  Then,  mamma,  why  are  you  troubled  ?" 

"  Because,  my  child,  I  cannot  carry  out  this  principle  in  other 
matters,  and  leave  quietly  my  all  in  His  hands." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  mother  ?  What  makes  you  look 
so?" 

"  This  lawsuit,  Ellen,  has  brought  upon  us  more  trouble  than  I 
ever  thought  a  lawsuit  could, — the  loss  of  it,  I  mean." 
"  How,  mamma  ?" 

"  It  has  caused  an  entire  change  of  all  our  plans.  Your  father 
says  he  is  too  poor  now  to  stay  here  any  longer  ;  and  he  has  agreed 
to  go  soon  on  some  government  or  military  business  to  Europe." 

"  Well,  mamma,  that  is  bad ;  but  he  has  been  away  a  great  deal 
before,  and  I  am  sure  we  were  always  very  happy." 

"  But,  Ellen,  he  thinks  now,  and  the  doctor  thinks  too,  that  it  is 
very  important  for  my  health  that  I  should  go  with  him." 
"  Does  he,  mamma? — and  do  you  mean  to  go  ?" 
"  I  am  afraid  I  must,  my  dear  child." 
"  Not,  and  leave  me,  mother?" 

The  imploring  look  of  mingled  astonishment,  terror,  and  sorrow 
with  which  Ellen  uttered  these  words,  took  from  her  mother  all 
power  of  replying.  It  was  not  necessary ;  her  little  daughter 
understood  only  too  well  the  silent  answer  of  her  eye.  With  a  wild 
cry  she  flung  her  arms  round  her  mother,  and  hiding  her  face  in 
her  lap.  gave  way  to  a  violent  burst  of  grief  that  seemed  for  a  few 
moments  as  if  it  would  rend  soul  and  body  in  twain.  For  her  pas 
sions  were  by  nature  very  strong,  and  by  education  very  imperfectly 
controlled;  and  time,  "that  rider  that  breaks  youth,"  had  not  as 
yet  tried  his  hand  upon  her.  And  Mrs.  Montgomery,  in  spite  of 
the  fortitude  and  calmness  to  which  she  had  steeled  herself,  bent 
down  over  her,  and  folding  her  arms  about  her,  yielded  to  sorrow 
deeper  still,  and  for  a  little  while  scarcely  less  violent  in  its  expres 
sion  than  Ellen's  own. 


12  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Alas !  she  had  too  good  reason.  She  knew  that  the  chance  of 
her  ever  returning  to  shield  the  little  creature  who  was  nearest  her 
heart  from  the  future  evils  and  snares  of  life  was  very,  very  small. 
She  had  at  first  absolutely  refused  to  leave  Ellen,  when  her  husband 
proposed  it :  declaring  that  she  would  rather  stay  with  her  and  die 
than  take  the  chance  of  recovery  at  such  a  cost.  But  her  physician 
assured  her  she  could  not  live  long  without  a  change  of  climate ; 
Captain  Montgomery  urged  that  it  was  better  to  submit  to  a  tem 
porary  separation,  than  to  cling  obstinately  to  her  child  for  a  few 
months  and  then  leave  her  for  ever;  said  he  must  himself  go 
speedily  to  France,  and  that  now  was  her  best  opportunity ;  assur 
ing  her,  however,  that  his  circumstances  would  not  permit  him  to 
take  Ellen  along,  but  that  she  would  be  secure  of  a  happy  home 
with  his  sister  during  her  mother's  absence  ;  and  to  the  pressure  of 
argument  Captain  Montgomery  added  the  weight  of  authority, 
insisting  on  her  compliance.  Conscience  also  asked  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  whether  she  had  a  right  to  neglect  any  chance  of  life  that 
was  offered  her ;  and  at  last  she  yielded  to  the  combined  influence 
of  motives  no  one  of  which  would  have  had  power  sufficient  to 
move  her,  and,  though  with  a  secret  consciousness  it  would  be  in 
vain,  she  consented  to  do  as  her  friends  wished.  And  it  was  for 
Ellen's  sake  she  did  it,  after  all. 

Nothing  but  necessity  had  given  her  the  courage  to  open  the 
matter  to  her  little  daughter.  She  had  foreseen  and  endeavored  to 
prepare  herself  for  Ellen's  anguish  ;  but  nature  was  too  strong  for 
her,  and  they  clasped  each  other  in  a  convulsive  embrace,  while 
tears  fell  like  rain. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Mrs.  Montgomery  recollected  herself, 
and  then,  though  she  struggled  hard,  she  could  not  immediately  re 
gain  her  composure.  But  Ellen's  deep  sobs  at  length  fairly  alarmed 
her ;  she  saw  the  necessity,  for  both  their  sakes,  of  putting  a  stop 
to  this  state  of  violent  excitement ;  self-command  was  restored  at 
once. 

"  Ellen  !  Ellen  !  listen  to  me,"  she  said  ;  "  my  child,  this  is  not 
right.  Remember,  my  darling,  who  it  is  that  brings  this  sorrow 
upon  us ;  though  we  must  sorrow,  we  must  not  rebel." 

Ellen  sobbed  more  gently ;  but  that  and  the  mute  pressure  of 
her  arms  was  her  only  answer. 

"  You  will  hurt  both  yourself  and  me,  my  daughter,  if  you  can 
not  command  yourself.  Remember,  dear  Ellen,  God  sends  no 
trouble  upon  his  children  but  in  love ;  and  though  we  cannot  see 
how,  he  will  no  doubt  make  all  this  work  for  our  good." 

"  I  know  it,  dear  mother,"  sobbed  Ellen,  "  but  it's  just  as  hard  !" 

Mrs.  Montgomery's  own  heart  answered  so  readily  to  the  truth 
of  Ellen's  words  that  for  the  moment  she  could  not  speak. 

u  Try,  my  daughter,"  she  said,  after  a  pause, — "  try  to  compose 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  13 

yourself.  I  am  afraid  you  will  make  me  worse,  Ellen,  if  you  can 
not, — I  am,  indeed."  • 

Ellen  had  plenty  of  faults,  but  amidst  them  all  love  to  her  mother 
was  the  strongest  feeling  her  heart  knew.  It  had  power  enough 
now  to  move  her  as  nothing  else  could  have  done  ;  and  exerting  all 
her  self-command,  of  which  she  had  sometimes  a  good  deal,  she 
did  calm  herself ;  ceased  sobbing  ;  wiped  her  eyes ;  arose  from  her 
crouching  posture,  and  seating  herself  on  the  sofa  by  her  mother, 
and  laying  her  head  on  her  bosom,  she  listened  quietly  to  all  the 
soothing  words  and  cheering  considerations  with  which  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  endeavoured  to  lead  her  to  take  a  more  hopeful  view  of  the 
subject.  All  she  could  urge,  however,  had  but  very  partial  success, 
though  the  conversation  was  prolonged  far  into  the  evening.  Ellen 
said  little,  and  did  not  weep  any  more ;  but  in  secret  her  heart 
refused  consolation. 

Long  before  this  the  servant  had  brought  in  the  tea-things. 
Nobody  regarded  it  at  the  time,  but  the  little  kettle  hissing  away 
on  the  fire  now  by  chance  attracted  Ellen's  attention,  and  she 
suddenly  recollected  her  mother  had  had  no  tea.  To  make  her 
mother's  tea  was  Ellen's  regular  business.  She  treated  it  as  a  very 
grave  affair,  and  loved  it  as  one  of  the  pleasantest  in  the  course  of 
the  day.  She  used  in  the  first  place  to  make  sure  that  the  kettle 
really  boiled ;  then  she  carefully  poured  some  water  into  the  tea 
pot  and  rinsed  it,  both  to  make  it  clean  and  to  make  it  hot ;  then 
she  knew  exactly  how  much  tea  to  put  into  the  tiny  little  tea-pot, 
which  was  just  big  enough  to  hold  two  cups  of  tea,  and  having 
poured  a  very  little  boiling  water  to  it,  she  used  to  set  it  by  the  side 
of  the  fire  while  she  made  half  a  slice  of  toast.  How  careful 
Ellen  was  about  that  toast !  The  bread  must  not  be  cut  too  thick, 
nor  too  thin ;  the  fire  must,  if  possible,  burn  clear  and  bright,  and 
she  herself  held  the  bread  on  a  fork,  just  at  the  right  distance  from 
the  coals  to  get  nicely  browned  without  burning.  When  this  was 
done  to  her  satisfaction  (and  if  the  first  piece  failed  she  would  take 
another),  she  filled  up  the  little  tea-pot  from  the  boiling  kettle,  and 
proceeded  to  make  a  cup  of  tea.  She  knew,  and  was  very  careful 
to  put  in,  just  the  quantity  of  milk  and  sugar  that  her  mother  liked  ; 
and  then  she  used  to  carry  the  tea  and  toast  on  a  little  tray  to  her 
mother's  side,  and  very  often  held  it  there  for  her  while  she  eat. 
All  this  Ellen  did  with  the  zeal  that  love  gives,  and  though  the 
same  thing  was  to  be  gone  over  every  night  of  the  year,  she  was 
never  wearied.  It  was  a  real  pleasure  ;  she  had  the  greatest  satis 
faction  in  seeing  that  the  little  her  mother  could  eat  was  prepared 
for  her  in  the  nicest  possible  manner ;  she  knew  her  hands  made  it 
taste  better ;  her  mother  often  said  so. 

But  this  evening  other  thoughts  had  driven  this  important  busi 
ness  quite  out  of  poor  Ellen's  inind.  Now,  however,  when  her  eyes 


14  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

fell  upon  the  little  kettle,  she  recollected  her  mother  had  not  had  her 
tea,  and  must  want  it  very  much  ;  and  silently  slipping  off  the  sofa, 
she  set  about  getting  it  as  usual.  There  was  no  doubt  this  time 
whether  the  kettle  boiled  or  no  ;  it  had  been  hissing  for  an  hour  and 
more,  calling  as  loud  as  it  could  to  somebody  to  come  and  make  the 
tea.  So  Ellen  made  it,  and  then  began  the  toast.  But  she  began 
to  think,  too,  as  she  watched  it,  how  few  more  times  she  would  be 
able  to  do  so, — how  soon  her  pleasant  tea-makings  would  be  over, — 
and  the  desolate  feeling  of  separation  began  to  come  upon  her  before 
the  time.  These  thoughts  were  too  much  for  poor  Ellen  ;  the  thick 
tears  gathered  so  fast  she  could  not  see  what  she  was  doing ;  and 
she  had  no  more  than  just  turned  the  slice  of  bread  on  the  fork 
when  the  sickness  of  heart  quite  overcame  her ;  she  could  not  go 
on.  Toast  and  fork  and  all  dropped  from  her  hand  into  the  ashes ; 
and  rushing  to  her  mother's  side,  who  was  now  lying  down  again, 
and  throwing  herself  upon  her,  she  burst  into  another  fit  of  sorrow  ; 
not  so  violent  as  the  former,  but  with  a  touch  of  hopelessness  in  it 
which  went  yet  more  to  her  mother's  heart.  Passion  in  the  first 
said,  "  I  cannot;"  despair  now  seemed  to  say,  "  I  must." 

But  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  too  exhausted  to  either  share  or  soothe 
Ellen's  agitation.  She  lay  in  suffering  silence  ;  till  after  some  time 
she  said,  faintly,  "  Ellen,  my  love,  I  cannot  bear  this  much  longer." 

Ellen  was  immediately  brought  to  herself  by  these  words.  She 
arose,  sorry  and  ashamed  that  she  should  have  given  occasion  for 
them  ;  and  tenderly  kissing  her  mother,  assured  her  most  sincerely 
and  resolutely  that  she  would  not  do  so  again.  In  a  few  minutes 
she  was  calm  enough  to  finish  making  the  tea,  and  having  toasted 
another  piece  of  bread,  she  brought  it  to  her  mother.  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  swallowed  a  cup  of  tea,  but  no  toast  could  be  eaten  that 
night. 

Both  remained  silent  and  quiet  awhile  after  this,  till  the  clock 
struck  ten.  "  You  had  better  go  to  bed,  iny  daughter,"  said  Mrs. 
Montgomery. 

"  I  will,  mamma." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  read  me  a  little  before  you  go?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  mamma  ;"  and  Ellen  brought  the  book.  "  Where 
shall  I  read?" 

"  The  twenty-third  psalm." 

Ellen  began  it,  and  went  through  it  steadily  and  slowly,  though 
her  voice  quavered  a  little. 

"  '  The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd  ;  I  shall  not  want. 

"  '  He  maketh  me  to  lie  down  in  green  pastures  :  He  leadeth  mo 
beside  the  still  waters. 

"  '  He  restoreth  my  soul :  He  leadeth  me  in  the  paths  of  right 
eousness  for  his  name's  sake. 

" '  Yea,  though  I  walk  through   the  valley  of  the  shadow  of 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  15 

death,  I  will  fear  no  evil :  for  Thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod  and  thy 
staff  they  comfort  me. 

" '  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  presence  of  mine 
enemies :  Thou  anointest  my  head  with  oil ;  my  cup  runneth  over. 

"  '  Surely  goodness  and  mercy  shall  follow  me  all  the  days  of  my 
life :  and  I  will  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  forever.'  " 

Long  before  she  had  finished,  Ellen's  eyes  were  full,  and  her  heart 
too.  "  If  I  only  could  feel  these  words  as  mamma  does  !"  she  said 
to  herself.  She  did  not  dare  look  up  till  the  traces  of  tears  had 
passed  away  ;  then  she  saw  that  her  mother  was  asleep.  Those  first 
sweet  words  had  fallen  like  balm  upon  the  sore  heart  j  and  mind 
and  body  had  instantly  found  rest  together. 

Ellen  breathed  the  lightest  possible  kiss  upon  her  forehead,  and 
stole  quietly  out  of  the  room  to  her  own  little  bed. 


CHAPTER   II. 

Not  all  the  whispers  that  the  soft  winds  utter 

Speak  earthly  things — 
There  mingleth  there,  sometimes,  a  gentle  flutter 

Of  angel's  wings. 

AMY  LATHROP. 

SORROW  and  excitement  made  Ellen's  eyelids  heavy,  and  she  slept 
late  on  the  following  morning.  The  great  dressing-bell  waked  her. 
She  started  up  with  a  confused  notion  that  something  was  the 
matter ;  there  was  a  weight  on  her  heart  that  was  very  strange  to 
it.  A  moment  was  enough  to  bring  it  all  back ;  and  she  threw 
herself  again  on  her  pillow,  yielding  helplessly  to  the  grief  she  had 
twice  been  obliged  to  control  the  evening  before.  Yet  love  was 
stronger  than  grief  still,  and  she  was  careful  to  allow  no  sound  to 
escape  her  that  could  reach  the  ears  of  her  mother,  who  slept  in  the 
next  room.  Her  resolve  was  firm  to  grieve  her  no  more  with  useless 
expressions  of  sorrow ;  to  keep  it  to  herself  as  much  as  possible. 
But  this  very  thought  that  she  must  keep  it  to  herself  gave  an 
edge  to  poor  Ellen's  grief,  and  the  convulsive  clasp  of  her  little  arms 
round  the  pillow  plainly  showed  that  it  needed  none. 

The  breakfast-bell  again  startled  her,  and  she  remembered  she 
must  not  be  too  late  down-stairs,  or  her  mother  might  inquire  and 
find  out  the  reason.  "  I  will  not  trouble  mother — I  will  not — I  will 
not,"  she  resolved  to  herself  as  she  got  out  of  bed,  though  the 
tears  fell  faster  as  she  said  so.  Dressing  was  sad  work  to  Ellen  to 
day  ;  it  went  on  very  heavily.  Tears  dropped  into  the  water  as  she 
stooped  her  head  to  the  basin  ;  and  she  hid  her  face  in  the  towel 
to  cry,  instead  of  making  the  ordinary  use  of  it.  But  the  usual 


16  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

duties  were  dragged  through  at  last,  and  she  went  to  the  window. 
"  I'll  not  go  down  till  papa  is  gone,"  she  thought j  "he'll  ask  me 
what  is  the  matter  with  my  eyes." 

Ellen  opened  the  window.  The  rain  was  over ;  the  lovely  light 
of  a  fair  September  morning  was  beautifying  everything  it  shone 
upon.  Ellen  had  been  accustomed  to  amuse  herself  a  good  deal  at 
this  window,  though  nothing  was  to  be  seen  from  it  but  an  ugly 
city  prospect  of  back  walls  of  houses,  with  the  yards  belonging  to 
them,  and  a  bit  of  narrow  street.  KBut  she  had  watched  the  people 
that  showed  themselves  at  the  windows,  and  the  children  that  played 
in  the  yards,  and  the  women  that  went  to  the  pumps,  till  she  had 
become  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  neighborhood  ;  and  though 
they  were  for  the  most  part  dingy,  dirty,  and  disagreeable, — women, 
children,  houses,  and  all, — she  certainly  had  taken  a  good  deal  of 
interest  in  their  proceedings.  It  was  all  gone  now.  She  could  not 
bear  to  look  at  them  ;  she  felt  as  if  it  made  her  sick ;  and  turning 
away  her  eyes,  she  lifted  them  to  the  bright  sky  above  her  head, 
and  gazed  into  its  clear  depth  of  blue  till  she  almost  forgot  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  a  city  in  the  world.  Little  white  clouds  were 
chasing  across  it,  driven  by  the  fresh  wind  that  was  blowing  away 
Ellen's  hair  from  her  face,  and  cooling  her  hot  cheeks.  That  wind 
could  not  have  been  long  in  coming  from  the  place  of  woods  and 
flowers,  it  was  so  sweet  still.  Ellen  looked  till,  she  didn't  know 
why,  she  felt  calmed  and  soothed, — as  if  somebody  was  saying  to 
her,  softly,  "  Cheer  up,  my  child,  cheer  up  ;  things  are  not  as  bad  as 
they  might  be  ;  things  will  be  better."  Her  attention  was  attracted 
at  length  by  voices  below  ;  she  looked  down,  and  saw  there,  in  one 
of  the  yards,  a  poor  deformed  child,  whom  she  had  often  noticed 
before,  and  always  with  sorrowful  interest.  Besides  his  bodily  in 
firmity,  he  had  a  further  claim  on  her  sympathy,  in  having  lost  his 
mother  within  a  few  months.  Ellen's  heart  was  easily  touched  this 
morning  ;  she  felt  for  him  very  much.  "  Poor,  poor  little  fellow  !" 
she  thought ;  "  he's  a  great  deal  worse  off  than  I  am.  His  mother 
is  dead  ;  mine  is  only  going  away  for  a  few  months — not  forever ; 
oh,  what  a  difference !  and  then  the  joy  of  coming  back  again  !" 
poor  Ellen  was  weeping  already  at  the  thought — "  and  I  will  do,  oh, 
how  much  !  while  she  is  gone — I'll  do  more  than  she  can  possibly 
expect  from  me — I'll  astonish  her — I'll  delight  her — I'll  work 
harder  than  ever  I  did  in  my  life  before,  I'll  mend  all  my  faults, 
and  give  her  so  much  pleasure  !  But  oh  !  if  she  only  needn't  go 
away  !  Oh,  mamma !"  Tears  of  mingled  sweet  and  bitter  were 
poured  out  fast,  but  the  bitter  had  the  largest  share. 

The  breakfast-table  was  still  standing,  and  her  father  gone,  when 
Ellen  went  down-stairs.  Mrs.  Montgomery  welcomed  her  with  her 
usual  quiet  smile,  and  held  out  her  hand.  Ellen  tried  to  smile  in 
answer,  but  she  was  glad  to  hide  her  face  in  her  mother's  bosom  j 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD  17 

and  the  long,  close  embrace  was  too  close  and  too  long :  it  told  of 
sorrow  as  well  as  love  ;  and  tears  fell  from  the  eyes  of  each  that  the 
other  did  not  see. 

"  Need  I  go  to  school  to-day,  mamma  ?"  whispered  Ellen. 

"  No ;  I  spoke  to  your  father  about  that ;  you  shall  not  go  any 
more ;  we  will  be  together  now  while  we  can." 

Ellen  wanted  to  ask  how  long  that  would  be,  but  could  not  make 
up  her  mind  to  it. 

"  Sit  down,  daughter,  and  take  some  breakfast." 

"  Have  you  done,  mamma  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  waited  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  dear  mamma,"  with  another  embrace ;  "  how  good 
you  are ;  but  I  don't  think  I  want  any." 

They  drew  their  chairs  to  the  table,  but  it  was  plain  neither  had 
much  heart  to  eat ;  although  Mrs.  Montgomery  with  her  own  hands 
laid  on  Ellen's  plate  half  of  the  little  bird  that  had  been  broiled  for 
her  own  breakfast.  The  half  was  too  much  for  each  of  them. 

"  What  made  you  so  late  this  morning,  daughter?" 

"  I  got  up  late  in  the  first  place,  mamma ;  and  then  I  was  a  long 
time  at  the  window." 

"  At  the  window !  were  you  examining  into  your  neighbor's 
affairs  as  usual  ?"  said  Mrs.  Mongomery,  surprised  that  it  should 
have  been  so. 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma,  I  didn't  look  at  them  at  all, — except^poor  little 
Billy, — I  was  looking  at  the  sky." 

"  And  what  did  you  see  there  that  pleased  you  so  much  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma  ;  it  looked  so  lovely  and  peaceful — that 
pure  blue  spread  over  my  head,  and  the  little  white  clouds  flying 
across  it — I  loved  to  looked  at  it ;  it  seemed  to  do  me  good." 

"  Could  you  look  at  it,  Ellen,  without  thinking  of  Him  who  made 
it?" 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  ceasing  her  breakfast,  and  now  speak 
ing  with  difficulty ;  "I  did  think  of  Him ;  perhaps  that  was  the 
reason." 

"  And  what  did  you  think  of  Him,  daughter?" 

"  I  hoped,  mamma — I  felt — I  thought — He  would  take  care  of 
me,"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears,  and  throwing  her  arms  again 
round  her  mother. 

"  He  will,  my  dear  daughter,  He  will,  if  you  will  only  put  your 
trust  in  Him,  Ellen." 

Ellen  struggled  hard  to  get  back  her  composure,  and  after  a  few 
minutes  succeeded. 

"  Mamma,  will  you  tell  me  what  you  mean  exactly  by  my  '  putting 
my  trust'  in  Him  ?" 

"  Don't  you  trust  me,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Certainly,  mamma." 
b  2* 


18  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  How  do  you  trust  me? — in  what?" 

"  Why,  mamma, — in  the  first  place  I  trust  every  word  you  say — 
entirely — I  know  nothing  could  be  truer ;  if  you  were  to  tell  me 
black  is  white,  mamma,  I  should  think  my  eyes  had  been  mistaken. 
Then  everything  you  tell  or  advise  me  to  do,  I  know  it  is  right, 
perfectly.  And  I  always  feel  safe  when  you  are  near  me,  because 
1  know  you'll  take  care  of  me.  And  I  am  glad  to  think  I  belong 
to  you,  and  you  have  the  management  of  me  entirely,  and  I  needn't 
manage  myself,  because  I  know  I  can't ;  and  if  I  could,  I'd  rather 
you  would,  mamma." 

"  My  daughter,  it  is  just  so ;  it  is  just  so  :  that  I  wish  you  to 
trust  in  God.  He  is  truer,  wiser,  stronger,  kinder,  by  far,  than  I 
am,  even  if  I  could  always  be  with  you ;  and  what  will  you  do 
when  I  am  away  from  you  ? — and  what  would  you  do,  my  child,  if 
I  were  to  be  parted  from  you  forever?" 

"  Oh,  mamma  !"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears,  and  clasping  her 
arms  round  her  mother  again, — "  Oh,  dear  mamma,  don't  talk  about 
it!" 

Her  mother  fondly  returned  her  caress,  and  one  or  two  tears  fell 
on  Ellen's  head  as  she  did  so,  but  that  was  all,  and  she  said  no 
more.  Feeling  severely  the  effects  of  the  excitement  and  anxiety 
of  the  preceding  day  and  night,  she  now  stretched  herself  on  the 
sofa  and  lay  quite  still.  Ellen  placed  herself  on  a  little  bench  at  her 
side,  with  her  back  to  the  head  of  the  sofa,  that  her  mother  might 
not  see  her  face ;  and  possessing  herself  of  one  of  her  hands,  sat 
with  her  little  head  resting  upon  her  mother,  as  quietias  she.  They 
remained  thus  for  two  or  three  hours,  without  speaking  ;  and  Mrs. 
Montgomery  was  part  of  the  time  slumbering  ;  but  now  and  then 
a  tear  ran  down  the  side  of  the  sofa  and  dropped  on  the  carpet  where 
Ellen  sat ;  and  now  and  then  her  lips  were  softly  pressed  to  the 
hand  she  held,  as  if  they  would  grow  there. 

The  doctor's  entrance  at  last  disturbed  them.  Doctor  Green 
found  his  patient  decidedly  worse  than  he  had  reason  to  expect ; 
and  his  sagacious  eye  had  not  passed  back  and  forth  many  times 
between  the  mother  and  daughter  before  he  saw  how  it  was.  He 
made  no  remark  upon  it,  however,  but  continued  for  some  moments 
a  pleasant  chatty  conversation  which  he  had  begun  with  Mrs. 
Montgomery.  He  then  called  Ellen  to  him  ;  he  had  rather  taken 
a  fancy  to  her. 

"  Well,  Miss  Ellen,"  he  said,  rubbing  one  of  her  hands  in  his  ; 
"  what  do  you  think  of  this  fine  scheme  of  mine  ?" 

"What  scheme,  sir?" 

"  Why.  this  scheme  of  sending  this  sick  lady  over  the  water  to 
get  well ;  what  do  you  think  of  it  eh  ?" 

"  Witt  it  make  her  quite  well,  do  you  think,  sir?"  asked  Ellen, 
earnestly. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  19 

" '  Will  it  make  her  well !'  to  be  sure  it  will ;  do  you  think  I 
don't  know  better  than  to  send  people  all  the  way  across  the  ocean 
for  nothing  ?  Who  do  you  think  would  want  Dr.  Green,  if  he  sent 
people  on  wild-goose  chases  in  that  fashion  ?" 

"Will  she  have  to  stay  long  there  before  she  is  cured,  sir?" 
asked  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  that  I  can't  tell ;  that  depends  entirely  on  circumstances, — 
perhaps  longer,  perhaps  shorter.  But  now,  Miss  Ellen,  I've  got  a 
word  of  business  to  say  to  you ;  you  know  you  agreed  to  be  my 
little  nurse.  Mrs.  Nurse,  this  lady  whom  I  put  under  your  care 
the  other  day  isn't  quite  as  well  as  she  ought  to  be  this  morning ; 
I'm  afraid  you  haven't  taken  proper  care  of  her  ;  she  looks  to  me  as 
if  she  had  been  too  much  excited.  I've  a  notion  she  has  been 
secretly  taking  half  a  bottle  of  wine,  or  reading  some  furious  kind 
of  a  novel,  or  something  of  that  sort,  you  understand  ?  Now  mind, 
Mrs.  Nurse,"  said  the  doctor,  changing^his  tone,  "she  must  not  be 
excited, — you  must  take  care  that  she  is  not, — it  isn't  good  for  her. 
You  mustn't  let  her  talk  much,  or  laugh  much,  or  cry  at  all,  on 
any  account ;  she  mustn't  be  worried  in  the  least, — will  you  re 
member  ?  Now  you  know  what  I  shall  expect  of  you ;  you  must 
be  very  careful — if  that  piece  of  toast  of  yours  should  chance  to 
get  burned,  one  of  these  fine  evenings,  I  won't  answer  for  the  con 
sequences.  Good-by,"  said  he,  shaking  Ellen's  hand, — "  you  needn't 
look  sober  about  it ;  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  let  your  mamma  be  as 
much  like  an  oyster  as  possible ;  you  understand  ?  Good-by." 
And  Dr.  Green  took  his  leave. 

"  Poor  woman  !"  said  the  doctor  to  himself  as  he  went  down 
stairs  (he  was  a  humane  man).  "  I  wonder  if  she'll  live  till  she 
gets  to  the  other  side  !  That's  a  nice  little  girl,  too.  Poor  child ! 
poor  child !" 

Both  mother  and  daughter  silently  acknowledged  the  justice  of 
the  doctor's  advice  and  determined  to  follow  it.  By  common  con 
sent,  as  it  seemed,  each  for  several  days  avoided  bringing  the 
subject  of  sorrow  to  the  other's  mind;  though  no  doubt  it  was 
constantly  present  to  both.  It  was  not  spoken  of;  indeed,  little  of 
any  kind  was  spoken  of,  but  that  never.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was 
doubtless  employed  during  this  interval  in  preparing  for  what  she 
believed  was  before  her ;  endeavouring  to  resign  herself  and  her 
child  to  Him  in  whose  hands  they  were,  and  struggling  to  with 
draw  her  affections  from  a  world  which  she  had  a  secret  misgiving 
she  was  fast  leaving.  As  for  Ellen,  the  doctor's  warning  had  served 
to  strengthen  the  resolve  she  had  already  made,  that  she  would  not 
distress  her  mother  with  the  sight  of  her  sorrow ;  and  she  kept  it, 
as  far  as  she  could.  She  did  not  let  her  mother  see  but  very  few 
tears,  and  those  were  quiet  ones  ;  though  she  dropped  her  head  like 
a  withered  flower,  and  went  about  the  house  with  an  air  of  sub- 


20  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

missive  sadness  that  tried  her  mother  sorely.  But  when  she  was 
alone,  and  knew  no  one  could  see,  sorrow  had  its  way ;  and  then 
there  were  sometimes  agonies  of  grief  that  would  almost  have 
broken  Mrs.  Montgomery's  resolution,  had  she  known  them. 

This,  however,  could  not  last.  Ellen  was  a  child,  and  of  most 
buoyant  and  elastic  spirit  naturally ;  it  was  not  for  one  sorrow, 
however  great,  to  utterly  crush  her.  It  would  have  taken  years  to 
do  that.  Moreover,  she  entertained  not  the  slightest  hope  of  being 
able  by  any  means  to  alter  her  father's  will.  She  regarded  the 
dreaded  evil  as  an  inevitable  thing.  But  though  she  was  at  first 
overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  and  for  some  days  evidently  pined  under 
it  sadly,  hope  at  length  would  come  back  to  her  little  heart ;  and 
no  sooner  in  again,  hope  began  to  smooth  the  roughest,  and  soften 
the  hardest,  and  touch  the  dark  spots  with  light,  in  Ellen's  future. 
The  thoughts  which  had  just  passed  through  her  head  that  first 
morning  as  she  stood  at  her  window,  now  came  back  again.  Thoughts 
of  wonderful  improvement  io  be  made  during  her  mother's  absence  ; 
of  unheard-of  efforts  to  learn  and  amend,  which  should  all  be 
crowned  with  success ;  and,  above  all,  thoughts  of  that  "  coming 
home,"  when  all  these  attainments  and  accomplishments  should  be 
displayed  to  her  mother's  delighted  eyes,  and  her  exertions  receive 
their  long-desired  reward ;  they  made  Ellen's  heart  beat,  and  her 
eyes  swim,  and  even  brought  a  smile  once  more  upon  her  lips.  Mrs. 
Montgomery  was  rejoiced  to  see  the  change;  she  felt  that  as  much 
time  had  already  been  given  to  sorrow  as  they  could  afford  to  lose, 
and  she  had  not  known  exactly  how  to  proceed.  Ellen's  amended 
looks  and  spirits  greatly  relieved  her. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Ellen  ?"  said  she,  one  morning. 

Ellen  was  sewing,  and  while  busy  at  her  work  her  mother  had 
two  or  three  times  observed  a  light  smile  pass  over  her  face.  Ellen 
looked  up,  still  smiling,  and  answered,  "  Oh,  mamma,  I  was  think 
ing  of  different  things, — things  that  I  mean  to  do  while  you  are 
gone." 

"  And  what  are  these  things?"  inquired  her  mother. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  it  wouldn't  do  to  tell  you  beforehand;  I  want  to 
surprise  you  with  them  when  you  come  back." 

A  slight  shudder  passed  over  Mrs.  Montgomery's  frame,  but  Ellen 
did  not  see  it.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  silent.  Ellen  presently  in 
troduced  another  subject. 

"  Mamma,  what  kind  of  a  person  is  my  aunt  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  I  have  never  seen  her." 

"  How  has  that  happened,  mamma?" 

"  Your  aunt  has  always  lived  in  a  remote  country  town,  and  I 
have  been  very  much  confined  to  two  or  three  cities,  and  your  father's 
long  and  repeated  absences  made  travelling  impossible  to  me." 

Ellen  thought,  but  she  didn't  say  it,  that  it  was  very  odd  her 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  21 

father  should  not  sometimes,  when  he   was  in  the   country,  have 
gone  to  see  his  relations,  and  taken  her  mother  with  him. 

"  What  is  my  aunt's  name,  mamma?" 

"  I  think  you  must  have  heard  that  already,  Ellen ;  Fortune 
Emerson." 

"  Emerson  !  I  thought  she  was  papa's  sister !" 

"  So  she  is." 

"  Then  how  comes  her  name  not  to  be  Montgomery  ?" 

"  She  is  only  his  half-sister ;  the  daughter  of  his  mother,  not  the 
daughter  of  his  father." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  that,"  said  Ellen,  gravely. 

"Why,  my  daughter?" 

"  I  am  afraid  she  will  not  be  so  likely  to  love  me." 

"  You  mustn't  think  so,  my  child.  Her  loving  or  not  loving  you  / 
will  depend  solely  and  entirely  upon  yourself,  Ellen.  Don't  forget 
that.  If  you  are  a  good  child,  and  make  it  your  daily  care  to  do 
your  duty,  she  cannot  help  liking  you,  be  she  what  she  may ;  and 
on  the  other  hand,  if  she  have  all  the  will  in  the  world  to  love  you, 
she  cannot  do  it  unless  you  will  let  her, — it  all  depends  on  your 
behaviour." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  can't  help  wishing  dear  aunt  Bessy  was  alive,  and 
I  was  going  to  her." 

Many  a  time  the  same  wish  had  passed  through  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery's  mind !  But  she  kept  down  her  rising  heart,  and  went  on 
calmly. 

"  You  must  not  expect,  my  child,  to  find  anybody  as  indulgent  as 
I  am,  or  as  ready  to  overlook  and  excuse  your  faults.  It  would  be 
unreasonable  to  look  for  it ;  and  you  must  not  think  hardly  of  your 
aunt  when  you  find  she  is  not  your  mother ;  but  then  it  will  be 
your  own  fault  if  she  does  not  love  you,  in  time,  truly  and  tenderly. 
See  that  you  render  her  all  the  respect  and  obedience  you  could 
render  me  ;  that  is  your  bounden  duty  ;  she  will  stand  in  my  place 
while  she  has  the  care  of  you, — remember  that,  Ellen  ;  and  remem 
ber,  too,  that  she  will  deserve  more  gratitude  at  your  hands  for 
showing  you  kindness  than  I  do,  because  she  cannot  have  the 
same  feeling  of  love  to  make  trouble  easy." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  don't  think  so  ;  it's  that  very 
feeling  of  love  that  I  am  grateful  for.  I  don't  care  a  fig  for  any 
thing  people  do  for  me  without  that." 

"  But  you  can  make  her  love  you,  Ellen,  if  you  try." 

"Well,  I'll  try,  mamma." 

"  And  don't  be  discouraged.  Perhaps  you  may  be  disappointed 
in  first  appearances,  but  never  mind  that ;  have  patience ;  and  let 
your  motto  be  (if  there's  any  occasion),  overcome  evil  with  good. 
Will  you  put  that  among  the  things  you  mean  to  do  while  I  am 
gone  ?"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  with  a  smile. 


22  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I'll  try,  dear  mamma." 

"  You  will  succeed  if  you  try,  dear,  never  fear ;  if  you  apply 
yourself  in  your  trying  to  the  old  unfailing  source  of  wisdom  and 
strength ;  to  Him  without  whom  you  can  do  nothing." 

There  was  silence  for  a  little. 

"  What  sort  of  a  place  is  it  where  my  aunt  lives?"  asked  Ellen. 

"  Your  father  says  it  is  a  very  pleasant  place ;  he  says  the 
country  is  beautiful,  and  very  healthy,  and  full  of  charming  walks 
and  rides.  You  have  never  lived  in  the  country  j  I  think  you  will 
enjoy  it  very  much." 

"  Then  it  is  not  in  a  town  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  No ;  it  is  not  a  great  way  from  the  town  of  Thirlwall,  but  your 
aunt  lives  in  the  open  country.  Your  father  says  she  is  a  capital 
housekeeper,  and  that  you  will  learn  more  and  be  in  all  respects  a 
great  deal  happier  and  better  off  than  you  would  be  in  a  boarding- 
school  here  or  anywhere." 

Ellen's  heart  secretly  questioned  the  truth  of  this  last  assertion 
very  much. 

"  Is  there  any  school  near?"  she  asked. 

"  Your  father  says  there  was  an  excellent  one  in  Thirlwall  when 
he  was  there." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  think  the  greatest  pleasure  I  shall 
have  while  you  are  gone  will  be  writing  to  you.  I  have  been  think 
ing  of  it  a  good  deal.  I  mean  to  tell  you  everything, — absolutely 
everything,  mamma.  You  know  there  will  be  nobody  for  me  to 
talk  to  as  I  do  to  you ;"  Ellen's  word's  came  out  with  difficulty ; 
"  and  when  I  feel  badly,  I  shall  just  shut  myself  up  and  write  to 
you."  She  hid  her  face  in  her  mother's  lap. 

"  I  count  upon  it,  my  dear  daughter ;  it  will  make  quite  as  much 
the  pleasure  of  my  life,  Ellen,  as  of  yours." 

"  But  then,  mother,"  said  Ellen,  brushing  away  the  tears  from 
her  eyes,  "  it  will  be  so  long  before  my  letters  can  get  to  you  !  The 
things  I  want  you  to  know  right  away  you  won't  know  perhaps  in 
a  month." 

"  That's  no  matter,  daughter ;  they  will  just  be  as  good  when 
they  do  get  to  me.  Never  think  of  that ;  write  every  day,  and  all 
manner  of  things  that  concern  you, — just  as  particularly  as  if  you 
were  speaking  to  me." 

"  And  you'll  write  to  me  too,  mamma?" 

"  Indeed  I  will,  when  I  can.  But,  Ellen,  you  say  that  when  I  am 
away  and  cannot  hear  you,  there  will  be  nobody  to  supply  my  place. 
Perhaps  it  will  be  so,  indeed ;  but  then,  my  daughter,  let  it  make  you 
seek  that  friend  who  is  never  far  away,  nor  out  of  hearing.  Draw 
nigh  to  God,  and  he  will  draw  nigh  to  you.  You  know  he  has  said 
of  his  children  :  '  Before  they  call,  I  will  answer ;  and  while  they 
are  yet  speaking,  I  will  hear.' " 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  23 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  her  eyes  filling  instantly,  "  you 
know  he  is  not  my  friend  in  the  same  way  that  he  is  yours."  And 
hiding  her  face  again,  she  added,  "  Oh,  I  wish  he  was !" 

"  You  know  the  way  to  make  him  so,  Ellen.  He  is  willing,  it 
only  rests  with  you.  Oh,  my  child,  my  child !  if  losing  your 
mother  might  be  the  means  of  finding  you  that  better  friend,  I 
should  be  quite  willing — and  glad  to  go — forever." 

There  was  silence,  only  broken  by  Ellen's  sobs.  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery's  voice  had  trembled,  and  her  face  was  now  covered  with 
her  hands ;  but  she  was  not  weeping ;  she  was  seeking  a  better 
relief  where  it  had  long  been  her  habit  to  seek  and  find  it.  Both 
resumed  their  usual  composure,  and  the  employments  which  had 
been  broken  off,  but  neither  chose  to  renew  the  conversation.  Din 
ner,  sleeping,  and  company  prevented  their  having  another  oppor 
tunity  during  the  rest  of  the  day. 

But  when  evening  came,  they  were  again  left  to  themselves. 
Captain  Montgomery  was  away,  which  indeed  was  the  case  most 
of  the  time ;  friends  had  taken  their  departure ;  the  curtains  were 
down,  the  lamp  lit,  the  little  room  looked  cosey  and  comfortable ; 
the  servant 
had  brought 
the  tea-things, 
and  withdrawn, 
and  the  mother 
and  daughter 
were  happily 
alone.  Mrs. 
Montgomery 
knew  that  such 
occasions  were 
numbered,  and 
fast  drawing  to 
an  end,  and  she 
felt  each  one  to 
be  very  pre 
cious.  She 
now  lay  on 
her  couch, 
with  her  face 
partially 
shaded,  and  her 
eyes  fixed  upon 
her  little  daugh 
ter,  who  was 

now  preparing  the  tea.     She  watched  her,  with  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  not  to  be  spoken,  as  the  little  figure  went  back  and  forward 


24  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

between  the  table  and  the  fire  ;  and  the  light,  shining  full  upon  her 
busy  face,  showed  that  Ellen's  whole  soul  was  in  her  beloved  duty. 
Tears  would  fall  as  she  looked,  and  were  not  wiped  away ;  but 
when  Ellen,  having  finished  her  work,  brought  with  a  satisfied  face 
the  little  tray  of  tea  and  toast  to  her  mother,  there  was  no  longer 
any  sign  of  them  left ;  Mrs.  Montgomery  arose  with  her  usual  kind 
smile,  to  show  her  gratitude  by  honoring  as  far  as  possible  what 
Ellen  had  provided." 

"  You  have  more  appetite  to-night,  mamma." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  daughter,"  replied  her  mother,  "  to  see  that 
you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  bear  patiently  this  evil  that  has 
come  upon  us.  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  and  I  am  glad  for  mine ; 
and  I  am  glad  too  because  we  have  a  great  deal  to  do  and  no  time 
to  lose  in  doing  it." 

"  What  have  we  so  much  to  do,  mamma  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  many  things,"  said  her  mother ;  "  you  will  see.  But  now, 
Ellen,  if  there  is  anything  you  wish  to  talk  to  me  about,  any  ques 
tion  you  want  to  ask,  anything  you  would  like  particularly  to  have, 
or  to  have  done  for  you,  I  want  you  to  tell  it  me  as  soon  as  possi 
ble,  now  while  we  can  attend  to  it,  for  by  and  by  perhaps  we  shall 
be  hurried." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  with  brightening  eyes,  "  there  is  one 
thing  I  have  thought  of  that  I  should  like  to  have ;  shall  I  tell  it 
you  now  ?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Mamma,  you  know  I  shall  want  to  be  writing  a  great  deal ; 
wouldn't  it  be  a  good  thing  for  me  to  have  a  little  box  with  some 
pens  in  it,  and  an  inkstand,  and  some  paper  and  wafers  ?  Because, 
mamma,  you  know  I  shall  be  among  strangers,  at  first,  and  I  shan't 
feel  like  asking  them  for  these  things  as  often  as  I  shall  want  them, 
and  maybe  they  wouldn't  want  to  let  me  have  them  if  I  did." 

"  I  have  thought  of  that  already,  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery,  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh.  "  I  will  certainly  take  care  that 
you  are  well  provided  in  that  respect  before  you  go." 

"  How  am  I  to  go,  mamma  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,  who  will  go  with  me  ?  You  know  I  can't  go  alone, 
mamma." 

"  No,  my  daughter,  I'll  not  send  you  alone.  But  your  father 
says  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  take  the  journey  at  present,  and  it  is 
yet  more  impossible  for  me.  There  is  no  help  for  it,  daughter,  but 
we  must  intrust  you  to  the  care  of  some  friend  going  that  way ; 
but  He  that  holds  the  winds  and  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand 
can  take  care  of  you  without  any  of  our  help,  and  it  is  to  his  keep 
ing,  above  all,  that  I  shall  commit  you." 

Ellen  made  no  remark,  and  seemed  much  less  surprised  and 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  25 

troubled  than  her  mother  had  expected.  In  truth,  the  greater  evil 
swallowed  up  the  less.  Parting  from  her  mother,  and  for  so  long  a 
time,  it  seemed  to  her  comparatively  a  matter  of  little  importance 
with  whom  she  went,  or  how,  or  where.  Except  for  this,  the  taking 
a  long  journey  under  a  stranger's  care  would  have  been  a  dreadful 
thing  to  her. 

"  Do  you  know  yet  who  it  will  be  that  I  shall  go  with,  mamma  ?" 

"  Not  yet ;  but  it  will  be  necessary  to  take  the  first  good  oppor 
tunity,  for  I  cannot  go  till  I  have  seen  you  off;  and  it  is  thought 
very  desirable  that  I  should  get  to  sea  before  the  severe  weather 
comes." 

It  was  with  a  pang  that  these  words  were  spoken,  and  heard,  but 
neither  showed  it  to  the  other. 

"  It  has  comforted  me  greatly,  my  dear  child,  that  you  have 
shown  yourself  so  submissive  and  patient  under  this  affliction.  I 
should  scarcely  have  been  able  to  endure  it  if  you  had  not  exerted 
self-control.  You  have  behaved  beautifully." 

This  was  almost  too  much  for  poor  Ellen.  It  required  her 
utmost  stretch  of  self-control  to  keep  within  any  bounds  of  com 
posure;  and  for  some  moments  her  flushed  cheek,  quivering  lip, 
and  heaving  bosom  told  what  a  tumult  her  mother's  words  had 
raised.  Mrs.  Montgomery  saw  she  had  gone  too  far,  and,  willing 
to  give  both  Ellen  and  herself  time  to  recover,  she  laid  her  head 
on  the  pillow  again  and  closed  her  eyes.  Many  thoughts  coming 
thick  upon  one  another  presently  filled  her  mind,  and  half  an  hour 
had  passed  before  she  again  recollected  what  she  had  meant  to  say. 
She  opened  her  eyes ;  Ellen  was  sitting  at  a  little  distance,  staring 
into  the  fire,  evidently  as  deep  in  meditation  as  her  mother  had 
been. 

"  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  "  did  you  ever  fancy  what  kind 
of  a  Bible  you  would  like  to  have  ?" 

"  A  Bible,  mamma  !"  said  Ellen,  with  sparkling  eyes ;  "  do  you 
mean  to  give  me  a  Bible  ?" 

Mrs.  Montgomery  smiled. 

"  But,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  gently,  "  I  thought  you  couldn't  afford 
it?" 

u  I  have  said  so,  and  truly,"  answered  her  mother ;  "  and  hitherto 
you  have  been  able  to  use  mine,  but  I  will  not  leave  you  now  with 
out  one.  I  will  find  ways  and  means,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
smiling  again. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  thank  you !"  said  Ellen,  delighted ;  "  how  glad  I  shall 
be  !"  And  after  a  pause  of  consideration,  she  added,  "  Mamma, 
I  never  thought  much  about  what  sort  of  a  one  I  should  like ; 
couldn't  I  tell  better  if  I  were  to  see  the  different  kinds  in  the 
store?" 

"  Perhaps  so.  Well,  the  first  day  that  the  weather  is  fine  enough 
B  8 


26  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

and  I  am  well  enough,  I  will  go  out  with  you  and  we  will  see  about 
it." 

"  I  am  afraid  Dr.  Green  won't  let  you,  mamma." 

"  I  shall  not  ask  him.  I  want  to  get  you  a  Bible,  and  some  other 
things  that  I  will  not  leave  you  without,  and  nobody  can  do  it  but 
myself.  I  shall  go,  if  I  possibly  can." 

"  What  other  things,  mamma  ?"  asked  Ellen,  very  much  interested 
in  the  subject. 

"  I  don't  think  it  will  do  to  tell  you  to-night,"  said  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery,  smiling.  "  I  foresee  that  you  and  I  should  be  kept  awake 
quite  too  late  if  we  were  to  enter  upon  it  just  now.  We  will  leave 
it  till  to-morrow.  Now  read  to  me,  love,  and  then  to  bed." 

Ellen  obeyed ;  and  went  to  sleep  with  brighter  visions  dancing 
before  her  eyes  than  had  been  the  case  for  some  time. 


CHAPTER   III. 

Sweetheart,  we  shall  be  rich  ere  we  depart, 

If  fairings  come  thus  plentifully  in. — SHAKESPEARE. 

ELLEN  had  to  wait  some  time  for  the  desired  fine  day.  The 
equinoctial  storms  would  have  their  way  as  usual,  and  Ellen  thought 
they  were  longer  than  ever  this  year.  But  after  many  stormy  days 
had  tried  her  patience,  there  was  at  length  a  sudden  change,  both 
without  and  within  doors.  The  clouds  had  done  their  work  for 
that  time,  and  fled  away  before  a  strong  northerly  wind,  leaving 
the  sky  bright  and  fair.  And  Mrs.  Montgomery's  deceitful  disease 
took  a  turn,  and  for  a  little  space  raised  the  hopes  of  her  friends. 
All  were  rejoicing  but  two  persons;  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  not 
deceived,  neither  was  the  doctor.  The  shopping  project  was  kept  a 
profound  secret  from  him  and  from  everybody  except  Ellen. 

Ellen  watched  now  for  a  favourable  day.  Every  morning  as  soon 
as  she  rose  she  went  to  the  window  to  see  what  was  the  look 
of  the  weather ;  and  about  a  week  after  the  change  above  noticed, 
she  was  greatly  pleased  one  morning,  on  opening  her  window  as 
usual,  to  find  the  air  and  sky  promising  all  that  could  be  desired. 
It  was  one  of  those  beautiful  days  in  the  end  of  September,  that 
sometimes  herald  October  before  it  arrives, — cloudless,  brilliant, 
and  breathing  balm.  u  This  will  do,"  said  Ellen  to  herself,  in  great 
satisfaction.  "  I  think  this  will  do  ;  I  hope  mamma  will  think  so." 

Hastily  dressing  herself,  and  a  good  deal  excited  already,  sne  ran 
down-stairs ;  and  after  the  morning  salutations,  examined  her 
mother's  looks  with  as  much  anxiety  as  she  had  just  done  those  of 
the  weather.  All  was  satisfactory  there  also,  and  Ellen  ate  her 
breakfast  with  an  excellent  appetite  ;  but  she  said  not  a  word  of  the 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  27 

intended  expedition  till  her  father  should  be  gone.  She  contented 
herself  with  strengthening  her  hopes  by  making  constant  fresh  in 
spections  of  the  weather  and  her  mother's  countenance  alternately  ; 
and  her  eyes,  returning  from  the  window  on  one  of  these  excursions 
and  meeting  her  mother's  face,  saw  a  smile  there  which  said  all  she 
wanted.  Breakfast  went  on  more  vigorously  than  ever.  But  after 
breakfast  it  seemed  to  Ellen  that  her  father  never  would  go  away. 
He  took  the  newspaper,  an  uncommon  thing  for  him,  and  pored 
over  it  most  perseveringly,  while  Ellen  was  in  a  perfect  fidget  of 
impatience.  Her  mother,  seeing  the  state  she  was  in,  and  taking 
pity  on  her,  sent  her  up-stairs  to  do  some  little  matters  of  business 
in  her  own  room.  These  Ellen  despatched  with  all  possible  zeal 
and  speed ;  and  coming  down  again  found  her  father  gone  and  her 
mother  alone.  She  flew  to  kiss  her  in  the  first  place,  and  then  make 
the  inquiry,  "  Don't  you  think  to-day  will  do,  mamma  ?" 

"  As  fine  as  possible,  daughter ;  we  could  not  have  a  better  ;  but 
I  must  wait  till  the  doctor  has  been  here." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  pause,  making  a  great  effort  of 
self-denial,  "  I  am  afraid  you  oughtn't  to  go  out  to  get  these  things 
for  me.  Pray  don't,  mamma,  if  you  think  it  will  do  you  harm.  I 
would  rather  go  without  them  ;  indeed  I  would." 

"  Never  mind  that,  daughter,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  kissing 
her.  "  I  am  bent  upon  it ;  it  would  be  quite  as  much  of  a  disap 
pointment  to  me  as  to  you  not  to  go.  We  have  a  lovely  day  for  it, 
and  we  will  take  our  time  and  walk  slowly,  and  we  haven't  far  to 
go,  either.  But  I  must  let  Dr.  Green  make  his  visit  first." 

To  fill  up  the  time  till  he  came,  Mrs.  Montgomery  employed  Ellen 
in  reading  to  her  as  usual.  And  this  morning's  reading  Ellen  long 
after  remembered.  Her  mother  directed  her  to  several  passages  in 
different  parts  of  the  Bible  that  speak  of  heaven  and  its  enjoyments  ; 
and  though,  when  she  began,  her  own  little  heart  was  full  of  ex 
citement,  in  view  of  the  day's  plans,  and  beating  with  hope  and 
pleasure,  the  sublime  beauty  of  the  words  and  thoughts,  as  she 
went  on,  awed  her  into  quiet,  and  her  mother's  manner  at  length 
turned  her  attention  entirely  from  herself.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was 
lying  on  the  sofa,  and  for  the  most  part  listened  in  silence,  with 
her  eyes  closed,  but  sometimes  saying  a  word  or  two  that  made 
Ellen  feel  how  deep  was  the  interest  her  mother  had  in  the  things 
she  read  of,  and  how  pure  and  strong  the-  pleasure  she  was  even  now 
taking  in  them  ;  and  sometimes  there  was  a  smile  on  her  face  that 
Ellen  scarce  liked  to  see ;  it  gave  her  an  indistinct  feeling  that  her 
mother  would  not  be  long  away  from  that  heaven  to  which  she 
seemed  already  to  belong.  Ellen  had  a  sad  consciousness,  too,  that 
she  had  no  part  with  her  mother  in  this  matter.  She  could  hardly 
go  on.  She  came  to  that  beautiful  passage  in  the  seventh  of 
Revelation : 


28  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  And  one  of  the  elders  answered,  saying  unto  me,  What  are  these 
which  are  arrayed  in  white  robes  ?  and  whence  came  they  ?  And 
I  said  unto  him,  Sir,  thou  knowest.  And  he  said  unto  me,  These 
are  they  which  came  out  of  great  tribulation,  and  have  washed 
their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.  There 
fore  are  they  before  the  throne  of  God,  and  serve  him  day  and 
night  in  his  temple :  and  he  that  sitteth  on  the  throne  shall  dwell 
among  them.  They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more  ; 
neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them,  nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb 
which  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall  lead 
them  unto  living  fountains  of  waters  :  and  God  shall  wipe  away  all 
tears  from  their  eyes." 

With  difficulty,  and  a  husky  voice,  Ellen  got  through  it.  Lift 
ing  then  her  eyes  to  her  mother's  face,  she  saw  again  the  same 
singular  sweet  smile.  Ellen  felt  that  she  could  not  read  another 
word ;  to  her  great  relief  the  door  opened,  and  Dr.  Green  came  in. 
His  appearance  changed  the  whole  course  of  her  thoughts.  All 
that  was  grave  or  painful  fled  quickly  away;  Ellen's  head  was 
immediately  full  again  of  what  had  filled  it  before  she  began  to 
read. 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  had  retired  and  was  fairly  out  of  hearing, 
"Now,  mamma,  shall  we  go?"  said  Ellen.  "You  needn't  stir, 
mamma ;  I'll  bring  all  your  things  to  you,  and  put  them  on  ;  may 
I,  mamma?  then  you  won't  be  a  bit  tired  before  you  set  out." 

Her  mother  assented  ;  and  with  a  great  deal  of  tenderness  and  a 
great  deal  of  eagerness,  Ellen  put  on  her  stockings  and  shoes, 
arranged  her  hair,  and  did  all  that  she  could  toward  changing  her 
dress  and  putting  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl ;  and  greatly  delighted 
she  was  when  the  business  was  accomplished. 

"  Now,  mamma,  you  look  like  yourself;  I  haven't  seen  you  look 
so  well  this  great  while.  I'm  so  glad  you're  going  out  again,"  said 
Ellen,  putting  her  arms  round  her;  "  I  do  believe  it  will  do  you 
good.  Now,  mamma,  I'll  go  and  get  ready;  I'll  be  very  quick 
about  it ;  you  shan't  have  to  wait  long  for  me." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  two  set  forth  from  the  house.  The  day 
was  as  fine  as  could  be ;  there  was  no  wind,  there  was  no  dust ;  the 
sun  was  not  oppressive ;  and  Mrs.  Montgomery  did  feel  refreshed 
and  strengthened  during  the  few  steps  they  had  to  take  to  their  first 
stopping-place. 

It  was  a  jeweller's  store.  Ellen  had  never  been  in  one  before  in 
her  life,  and  her  first  feeling  on  entering  was  of  dazzled  wonderment 
at  the  glittering  splendours  around ;  this  was  presently  forgotten  in 
curiosity  to  know  what  her  mother  could  possibly  want  there.  She 
soon  discovered  that  she  had  come  to  sell  and  not  to  buy.  Mrs. 
Montgomery  drew  a  ring  from  her  finger,  and  after  a  little  chaffer 
ing  parted  with  it  to  the  owner  of  the  store  for  eighty  dollars,  being 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  29 

about  three-quarters  of  its  real  value.  The  money  was  counted 
out,  and  she  left  the  store. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  in  a  low  voice,  "wasn't  that  grand 
mamma's  ring,  which  I  thought  you  loved  so  much?" 

"  Yes,  I  did  love  it,  Ellen,  but  I  love  you  better." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  am  very  sorry !"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  need  not  be  sorry,  daughter.  Jewels  in  themselves  are 
the  merest  nothings  to  me  ;  and  as  for  the  rest,  it  doesn't  matter; 
I  can  remember  my  mother  without  any  help  from  a  trinket." 

There  were  tears,  however,  in  Mrs.  Montgomery's  eyes,  that 
showed  the  sacrifice  had  cost  her  something ;  and  there  were  tears 
in  Ellen's  that  told  it  was  not  thrown  away  upon  her. 

"lam  sorry  you  should  know  of  this,"  continued  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  ;  "  you  should  not  if  I  could  have  helped  it.  But  set  your 
heart  quite  at  rest,  Ellen  ;  I  assure  you  this  use  of  my  ring  gives 
me  more  pleasure  on  the  whole  than  any  other  I  could  have  made 
of  it." 

A  grateful  squeeze  of  her  hand  and  glance  into  her  face  was 
Ellen's  answer. 

Mrs.  Montgomery  had  applied  to  her  husband  for  the  funds 
necessary  to  fit  Ellen  comfortably  for  the  time  they  should  be 
absent ;  and  in  answer  he  had  given  her  a  sum  barely  sufficient  for 
her  mere  clothing.  Mrs.  Montgomery  knew  him  better  than  to  ask 
for  a  further  supply,  but  she  resolved  to  have  recourse  to  other 
means  to  do  what  she  had  determined  upon.  Now  that  she  was 
about  to  leave  her  little  daughter,  and  it  might  be  forever,  she  had 
set  her  heart  upon  providing  her  with  certain  things  which  she 
thought  important  to  her  comfort  and  improvement,  and  which 
Ellen  would  go  very  long  without  if  she  did  not  give  them  to  her, 
and  now,  Ellen  had  had  very  few  presents  in  her  life,  and  those 
always  of  the  simplest  and  cheapest  kind ;  her  mother  resolved 
that  in  the  midst  of  the  bitterness  of  this  time  she  would  give  her 
one  pleasure,  if  she  could  ;  it  might  be  the  last. 

They  stopped  next  at  a  bookstore.  "  Oh,  what  a  delicious  smell 
of  new  books  !"  said  Ellen,  as  they  entered.  "  Mamma,  if  it  wasn't 
for  one  thing,  I  should  say  I  never  was  so  happy  in  my  life." 

Children's  books,  lying  in  tempting  confusion  near  the  door, 
immediately  fastened  Ellen's  eyes  and  attention.  She  opened  one, 
and  was  already  deep  in  the  interest  of  it,  when  the  word  "  Bibles" 
struck  her  ear.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  desiring  the  shopman  to 
show  her  various  kinds  and  sizes  that  she  might  choose  from  among 
them.  Down  went  Ellen's  book,  and  she  flew  to  the  place,  where 
a  dozen  different  Bibles  were  presently  displayed.  Ellen's  wits 
were  ready  to  forsake  her.  Such  beautiful  Bibles  she  had  never 
seen ;  she  pored  in  ecstasy  over  their  varieties  of  type  and  binding, 
and  was  very  evidently  in  love  with  them  all. 


30  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Now,  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  "look  and  choose;  take 
your  time,  and  see  which  you  like  best." 

It  was  not  likely  that  Ellen's  "  time"  would  be  a  short  one.  Her 
mother,  seeing  this,  took  a  chair  at  a  little  distance  to  await  patiently 
her  decision;  and  while  Ellen's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  Bibles, 
her  own  very  naturally  were  fixed  upon  her.  In  the  excitement  and 
eagerness  of  the  moment,  Ellen  had  thrown  off  her  light  bonnet, 
and  with  flushed  cheek  and  sparkling  eye,  and  a  brow  grave  with 
unusual  care,  as  though  a  nation's  fate  were  deciding,  she  was  weigh 
ing  the  comparative  advantages  of  large,  small,  and  middle-sized ; 
black,  blue,  purple,  and  red ;  gilt  and  not  gilt ;  clasp  and  no  clasp. 
Everything  but  the  Bibles  before  her  Ellen  had  forgotten  utterly ; 
she  was  deep  in  what  was  to  her  the  most  important  of  business  ; 
she  did  not  see  the  bystanders  smile ;  she  did  not  know  there  were 
any.  To  her  mother's  eye  it  was  a  most  fair  sight.  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  gazed  with  rising  emotions  of  pleasure  and  pain  that  strug 
gled  for  the  mastery,  but  pain  at  last  got  the  better  and  rose  very 
high.  "How  can  I  give  thee  up!"  was  the  one  thought  of  her 
heart.  Unable  to  command  herself,  she  rose  and  went  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  counter,  where  she  seemed  to  be  examining  books ;  but 
tears,  some  of  the  bitterest  she  had  ever  shed,  were  falling  thick 
upon  the  dusty  floor,  and  she  felt  her  heart  like  to  break.  Her 
little  daughter  at  one  end  of  the  counter  had  forgotten  there  ever 
was  such  a  thing  as  sorrow  in  the  world ;  and  she  at  the  other  was 
bowed  beneath  a  weight  of  it  that  was  nigh  to  crush  her.  But  in 
her  extremity  she  betook  herself  to  that  refuge  she  had  never 
known  to  fail ;  it  did  not  fail  her  now.  She  remembered  the  words 
Ellen  had  been  reading  to  her  but  that  very  morning,  and  they 
came  like  the  breath  of  heaven  upon  the  fever  of  her  soul.  "  Not 
my  will,  but  thine  be  done."  She  strove  and  prayed  to  say  it,  and 
not  in  vain ;  and  after  a  little  while  she  was  able  to  return  to  her 
seat.  She  felt  that  she  had  been  shaken  by  a  tempest,  but  she  was 
calmer  now  than  before. 

Ellen  was  just  as  she  had  left  her,  and  apparently  just  as  far 
from  coming  to  any  conclusion.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  resolved 
to  let  her  take  her  way.  Presently  Ellen  came  over  from  the 
counter  with  a  large  royal  octavo  Bible,  heavy  enough  to  be  a  good 
lift  for  her.  "  Mamma,"  said  she,  laying  it  on  her  mother's  lap 
and  opening  it,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that?  isn't  that  splendid  ?" 

"  A  most  beautiful  page,  indeed  ;  is  this  your  choice,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  don't  know  ;  what  do  you  think?" 

"  I  think  it  is  rather  inconveniently  large  and  heavy  for  every 
day  use.  It  is  quite  a  weight  upon  my  lap.  I  shouldn't  like  to 
carry  it  in  my  hands  long.  You  would  want  a  little  table  on  pur 
pose  to  hold  it." 

"  Well,  that  wouldn't  do  at  all,"  said  Ellen,  laughing ;  "  I  believe 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  31 

you  are  right,  mamma;  I  wonder  I  didn't  think  of  it.  I  might 
have  known  that  myself." 

She  took  it  back ;  and  there  followed  another  careful  examina 
tion  of  the  whole  stock ;  and  then  Ellen  came  to  her  mother  with 
a  beautiful  miniature  edition  in  two  volumes,  gilt  and  clasped,  and 
very  perfect  in  all  respects,  but  of  exceeding  small  print. 

"  I  think  I'll  have  this,  mamma,"  said  she  ;  "  isn't  it  a  beauty  ? 
I  could  put  it  in  my  pocket,  you  know,  and  carry  it  anywhere  with 
the  greatest  ease." 

"  It  would  have  one  great  objection  to  me,"  said  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery,  "inasmuch  as  I  cannot  possibly  see  to  read  it." 

"  Cannot  you,  mamma  !     But  I  can  read  it  perfectly." 

"Well,  my  dear,  take  it;  that  is,  if  you  will  make  up  your 
mind  to  put  on  spectacles  before  your  time." 

"  Spectacles,  mamma  !  I  hope  I  shall  never  wear  spectacles." 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do  when  your  sight  fails,  if  you  shall 
live  so  long?" 

"  Well,  mamma, — if  it  comes  to  that, — but  you  don't  advise  me, 
then,  to  take  this  little  beauty?" 

"Judge  for  yourself;  I  think  you  are  old  enough." 

"  I  know  what  you  think,  though,  mamma,  and  I  dare  say  you 
are  right,  too;  I  won't  take  it,  though  it's  a  pity.  Well,  I  must 
look  again." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  came  to  her  help,  for  it  was  plain  Ellen  had 
lost  the  power  of  judging  amidst  so  many  tempting  objects.  But 
she  presently  simplified  the  matter  by  putting  aside  all  that  were 
decidedly  too  large,  or  too  small,  or  of  too  fine  print.  There  re 
mained  three,  of  moderate  size  and  sufficiently  large  type,  but 
different  binding.  "  Either  of  these  I  think  will  answer  your  pur 
pose  nicely,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"  Then,  mamma,  if  you  please,  I  will  have  the  red  one.  I  like 
that  best,  because  it  will  put  me  in  mind  of  yours." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  could  find  no  fault  with  this  reason.  She  paid 
for  the  red  Bible,  and  directed  it  to  be  sent  home.  "Shan't  I 
carry  it,  mamma?"  said  Ellen. 

"  No,  you  would  find  it  in  the  way ;  we  have  several  things  to  do 
yet." 

"  Have  we,  mamma  ?     I  thought  we  only  came  to  get  a  Bible." 

"  That  is  enough  for  one  day,  I  confess ;  I  am  a  little  afraid  your 
head  will  be  turned ;  but  I  must  run  the  risk  of  it.  I  dare  not 
lose  the  opportunity  of  this  fine  weather ;  I  may  not  have  such 
another.  I  wish  to  have  the  comfort  of  thinking,  when  I  am  away, 
that  I  have  left  you  with  everything  necessary  to  the  keeping  up 
of  good  habits, — everything  that  will  make  them  pleasant  and  easy. 
I  wish  you  to  be  always  neat,  and  tidy,  and  industrious ;  depending 
upon  others  as  little  as  possible ;  and  careful  to  improve  yourself  by 


32  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

every  means,  and  especially  by  writing  to  me.  I  will  leave  you  no 
excuse,  Ellen,  for  failing  in  any  of  these  duties.  I  trust  you  will 
not  disappoint  me  in  a  single  particular." 

Ellen's  heart  was  too  full  to  speak;  she  again  looked  up  tear 
fully  and  pressed  her  mother's  hand. 

"  I  do  not  expect  to  be  disappointed,  love,"  returned  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery. 

They  now  entered  a  large  fancy  store.  "  What  are  we  to  get 
here,  mamma?"  said  Ellen. 

"  A  box  to  put  your  pens  and  paper  in,"  said  her  mother,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  Ellen;  "  I  had  almost  forgotten  that."  She 
quite  forgot  it  a  minute  after.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
seen  the  inside  of  such  a  store ;  and  the  articles  displayed  on  every 
side  completely  bewitched  her.  From  one  thing  to  another  she 
went,  admiring  and  wondering;  in  her  wildest  dreams  she  had 
never  imagined  such  beautiful  things.  The  store  was  fairy-land. 

Mrs.  Montgomery  meanwhile  attended  to  business.  Having 
chosen  a  neat  little  japanned  dressing-box,  perfectly  plain,  but  well 
supplied  with  everything  a  child  could  want  in  that  line,  she  called 
Ellen  from  the  delightful  journey  of  discovery  she  was  making 
round  the  store,  and  asked  her  what  she  thought  of  it.  "  I  think 
it's  a  little  beauty,"  said  Ellen;  but  I  never  saw  such  a  place  for 
beautiful  things." 

"  You  think  it  will  do,  then?"  said  her  mother. 

"  For  me,  mamma!  You  don't  mean  to  give  it  to  me?  Oh, 
mother,  how  good  you  are  !  But  I  know  what  is  the  best  way  to 
thank  you,  and  I'll  do  it.  What  a  perfect  little  beauty !  Mamma, 
I'm  too  happy." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  her  mother,  "for  you  know  I  haven't  got 
you  the  box  for  your  pens  and  paper  yet." 

"Well,  mamma,  I'll  try  and  bear  it,"  said  Ellen,  laughing. 
"  But  do  get  me  the  plainest  little  thing  in  the  world,  for  you're 
giving  me  too  much." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  asked  to  look  at  writing-desks,  and  was  shown 
to  another  part  of  the  store  for  the  purpose.  "Mamma,"  said 
Ellen,  in  a  low  tone,  as  they  went,  "you're  not  going  to  get  me  a 
writing-desk?" 

"Why,  that  is  the  best  kind  of  box  for  holding  writing  mate 
rials,"  said  her  mother,  smiling;  "  don't  you  think  so?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say  !"  exclaimed  Ellen.  "I  can't  thank 
you,  mamma ;  I  haven't  any  words  to  do  it.  I  think  I  shall  go 
crazy." 

She  was  truly  overcome  with  the  weight  of  happiness.  Words 
failed  her,  and  tears  came  instead. 

From  among  a  great  many  desks  of  all  descriptions,  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  with  some  difficulty  succeeded  in  choosing  one  to  her  mind. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  33 

It  was  of  mahogany,  not  very  large,  but  thoroughly  well  made  and 
finished,  and  very  convenient  and  perfect  in  its  internal  arrange 
ments.  Ellen  was  speechless ;  occasional  looks  at  her  mother,  and 
deep  sighs,  were  all  she  had  now  to  offer.  The  desk  was  quite 
empty.  "Ellen,"  said  her  mother,  "do  you  remember  the  furni 
ture  of  Miss  Allen's  desk,  that  you  were  so  pleased  with  a  while 
ago." 

"  Perfectly,  mamma  ;  I  know  all  that  was  in  it." 

"Well,  then,  you  must  prompt  me  if  I  forget  anything.  Your 
desk  will  be  furnished  with  every  thing  really  useful.  Merely 
showy  matters  we  can  dispense  with.  Now,  let  us  see. — Here  is  a 
great  empty  place  that  I  think  wants  some  paper  to  fill  it.  Show 
me  some  of  different  sizes,  if  you  please." 

The  shopman  obeyed,  and  Mrs.  Montgomery  stocked  the  desk 
well  with  letter  paper,  large  and  small.  Ellen  looked  on  in  great 
satisfaction.  "That  will  do  nicely,"  she  said; — "that  large  paper 
will  be  beautiful  whenever  I  am  writing  to  you,  mamma,  you 
know,  and  the  other  will  do  for  other  times  when  I  haven't  so 
much  to  say;  though  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  who  there  is  in  the 
world  I  should  ever  send  letters  to  except  you." 

"  If  there  is  nobody  now,  perhaps  there  will  be  at  some  future 
time,"  replied  her  mother.  "I  hope  I  shall  not  always  be  your 
only  correspondent.  Now  what  next?" 

"Envelopes,  mamma?" 

"To  be  sure;  I  had  forgotten  them.  Envelopes  of  both  sizes 
to  match." 

"  Because,  mamma,  you  know  I  might,  and  I  certainly  shall, 
want  to  write  upon  the  fourth  page  of  my  letter,  and  I  couldn't  do 
it  unless  I  had  envelopes." 

A  sufficient  stock  of  envelopes  was  laid  in. 

"Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  "what  do  you  think  of  a  little  note- 
paper?" 

"Who  are  the  notes  to  be  written  to,  Ellen?"  said  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery,  smiling. 

"  You  needn't  smile,  mamma  ;  you  know,  as  you  said,  if  I  don't 
now  know,  perhaps  I  shall  by  and  by.  Miss  Allen's  desk  had  note- 
paper;  that  made  me  think  of  it." 

"  So  shall  yours,  daughter  ;  while  we  are  about  it  we  will  do  the 
thing  well.  And  your  note-paper  will  keep  quite  safely  in  this  nice 
little  place  provided  for  it,  even  if  you  should  not  want  to  use  a 
sheet  of  it  in  half  a  dozen  years." 

"  How  nice  that  is  !"  said  Ellen,  admiringly. 

"I  suppose  the  note-paper  must  have  envelopes  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Montgomery. 

"To  be  sure,  mamma;  I  suppose  so."  said  Ellen,  smiling: 
"Miss  Allen' shad." 


34  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Well  now  we  have  got  all  the  paper  we  want,  I  think,"  said 
Mrs.  Montgomery  ;  "  the  next  thing  is  ink, — or  an  inkstand  rather." 

Different  kinds  were  presented  for  her  choice. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  that  one  won't  do,"  said  Ellen,  anxiously  ;  "  you 
know  the  desk  will  be  knocking  about  in  a  trunk,  and  the  ink 
would  run  out,  and  spoil  every  thing.  It  should  be  one  of  those  that 
shut  tight.  I  don't  see  the  right  kind  here." 

The  shopman  brought  one. 

"There,  mamma,  do  you  see?"  said  Ellen;  "it  shuts  with  a 
spring,  and  nothing  can  possibly  come  out ;  do  you  see,  mamma  ? 
You  can  turn  it  topsy  turvy." 

"  I  see  you  are  quite  right,  daughter;  it  seems  I  should  get  on 
very  ill  without  you  to  adviser  me.  Fill  the  inkstand,  if  you 
please." 

"  Mamma,  what  shall  I  do  when  my  ink  is  gone?  that  inkstand 
will  hold  but  a  little,  you  know." 

"  Your  aunt  will  supply  you,  of  course,  my  dear,  when  you  are  out." 

"  I'd  rather  take  some  of  my  own  by  half,"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  could  not  carry  a  bottle  of  ink  in  your  desk  without  great 
danger  to  every  thing  else  in  it.  It  would  not  do  to  venture." 

"  We  have  excellent  ink-powder,"  said  the  shopman,  "  in  small 
packages,  which  can  be  very  conveniently  carried  about.  You  see, 
ma'am,  there  is  a  compartment  in  the  desk  for  such  things;  and 
the  ink  is  very  easily  made  at  any  time." 

"  Oh,  that  will  do  nicely,"  said  Ellen,  "  that  is  just  the  thing." 

"  Now  what  is  to  go  in  this  other  square  place  opposite  the  ink 
stand?"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"  That  is  the  place  for  the  box  of  lights,  mamma." 

"What  sort  of  lights?" 

"  For  sealing  letters,  mamma,  you  know.  They  are  not  like  your 
wax  taper  at  all ;  they  are  little  wax  matches,  that  burn  just  long 
enough  to  seal  one  or  two  letters  ;  Miss  Allen  showed  me  how  she 
used  them.  Hers  were  in  a  nice  little  box  just  like  the  inkstand 
on  the  outside  ;  and  there  was  a  place  to  light  the  matches,  and  a 
place  to  set  them  in  while  they  are  burning.  There,  mamma,  that's 
it,"  said  Ellen,  as  the  shopman  brought  forth  the  article  which  she 
was  describing,  "that's  it,  exactly;  and  that  will  just  fit.  Now, 
mamma,  for  the  wax." 

"  You  want  to  seal  your  letter  before  you  have  written  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Montgomery, — "  we  have  not  got  the  pens  yet." 

"  That's  true,  mamma  ;  let  us  have  the  pens.  And  some  quills 
too,  mamma?" 

"  Do  you  know  how  to  make  a  pen,  Ellen  ?" 

"  No,  mamma,  not  yet ;  but  I  want  to  learn  very  much.  Miss 
Pichegru  says  that  every  lady  ought  tc  know  how  to  make  her  own 
pens." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  35 

"  Miss  Pichegru  is  very  right ;  but  I  think  you  are  rather  too 
young  to  learn.  However,  we  will  try.  Now  here  are  steel  points 
enough  to  last  you  a  great  while, — and  as  many  quills  as  it  is  need 
ful  you  should  cut  up  for  one  year  at  least; — we  haven't  a  pen- 
handle  yet." 

"  Here,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  holding  out  a  plain  ivory  one, — 
"  don't  you  like  this  ?  I  think  that  it  is  prettier  than  these  that  are 
all  cut  and  fussed,  or  those  other  gay  ones  either." 

"  I  think  so  too,  Ellen ;  the  plainer  the  prettier.  Now  what 
comes  next?" 

"  The  knife,  mamma,  to  make  the  pens,"  said  Ellen,  smiling. 

"  True,  the  knife.  Let  us  see  some  of  your  best  pen-knives. 
Now,  Ellen,  choose.  That  one  won't  do,  my  dear;  it  should  have 
two  blades, — a  large  as  well  as  a  small  one.  You  know  you  want 
to  mend  a  pencil  sometimes." 

"So  I  do,  mamma,  to  be  sure,  you're  very  right;  here's  a  nice 
one.  Now,  mamma,  the  wax." 

"  There  is  a  box  full ;  choose  your  own  colours."  Seeing  it  was 
likely  to  be  a  work  of  time,  Mrs.  Montgomery  walked  away  to 
another  part  of  the  store.  When  she  returned  Ellen  had 
made  up  an  assortment  of  the  oddest  colours  she  could  find. 

"  I  won't  have  any  red,  mamma,  it  is  so  common,"  she  said. 

"  I  think  it  is  the  prettiest  of  all,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"  Do  you,  mamma?  then  I  will  have  a  stick  of  red  on  purpose 
to  seal  to  you  with." 

"  And  who  do  you  intend  shall  have  the  benefit  of  the  other 
colours?"  inquired  her  mother. 

"I  declare,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  laughing;  "I  never  thought 
of  that ;  I  am  afraid  they  will  have  to  go  to  you.  You  must  not 
mind,  mamma,  if  you  get  green  and  blue  and  yellow  seals  once  in 
a  while." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  submit  myself  to  it  with  a  good  grace,"  said 
Mrs.  Montgomery.  "  But  come,  my  dear,  have  we  got  all  that 
we  want?  This  desk  has  been  very  long  in  furnishing." 

"  You  haven't  given  me  a  seal  yet,  mamma." 

"  Seals !  There  are  a  variety  before  you ;  see  if  you  can  find 
one  that  you  like.  By  the  way,  you  cannot  seal  a  letter,  can 
you?" 

"  Not  yet,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  again  ;  "  that  is  another 
of  the  things  I  have  got  to  learn." 

"  Then  I  think  you  had  better  have  some  wafers  in  the  mean 
time." 

While  Ellen  was  picking  out  her  seal,  which  took  not  a  little 
time,  Mrs.  Montgomery  laid  in  a  good  supply  of  wafers  of  all 
sorts ;  and  then  went  on  further  to  furnish  the  desk  with  an  ivory 
leaf-cutter,  a  paper-folder,  a  pounce-box,  a  ruler,  and  a  neat  little 


36  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

silver  pencil ;  also,  some  drawing-pencils,  India-rubber,  and  sheets 
of  drawing-paper.  She  took  a  sad  pleasure  in  adding  every  thing 
she  could  think  of  that  might  be  for  Ellen's  future  use  or  advan 
tage  ;  but  as  with  her  own  hands  she  placed  in  the  desk  one  thing 
after  another,  the  thought  crossed  her  mind  how  Ellen  would  make 
drawings  with  those  very  pencils,  on  those  very  sheets  of  paper, 
which  her  eyes  would  never  see !  She  turned  away  with  a  sigh, 
and  receiving  Ellen's  seal  from  her  hand,  put  that  also  in  its  place. 
Ellen  had  chosen  one  with  her  own  name. 

"Will  you  send  these  things  at  once?"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery. 
"  I  particularly  wish  them  at  home  as  early  in  the  day  as  possible." 

The  man  promised.  Mrs.  Montgomery  paid  the  bill,  and  she 
and  Ellen  left  the  store. 

They  walked  a  little  way  in  silence. 

"  I  cannot  thank  you,  mamma,"  said  Ellen. 

"It  is  not  necessary,  my  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
returning  the  pressure  of  her  hand;  "  I  know  all  that  you  would 
say." 

There  was  as  much  sorrow  as  joy  at  that  moment  in  the  heart  of 
the  joyfullest  of  the  two. 

"  Where  are  we  going  now,  mamma?"  said  Ellen  again,  after  a 
while. 

"  I  wished  and  intended  to  have  gone  to  St.  Clair  and  Fleury's, 
to  get  you  some  merino  and  other  things ;  but  we  have  been  de 
tained  so  long  already  that  I  think  I  had  better  go  home.  I  feel 
somewhat  tired." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  dear  mamma,"  said  Ellen ;  I  am  afraid  I 
kept  you  too  long  about  that  desk." 

"  You  did  not  keep  me,  daughter,  any  longer  than  I  chose  to  be 
kept.  But  I  think  I  will  go  home  now,  and  take  the  chance  of 
another  fine  day  for  the  merino." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

How  can  I  live  without  thee :  how  forego 

Thy  sweet  converse,  and  love  so  dearly  joined. — MILTON. 

WHEN  dinner  was  over  and  the  table  cleared  away,  the  mother 
and  daughter  were  left,  as  they  always  loved  to  be,  alone.  It  was 
late  in  the  afternoon  and  already  somewhat  dark,  for  clouds  had 
gathered  over  the  beautiful  sky  of  the  morning,  and  the  wind, 
rising  now  and  then,  made  its  voice  heard.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was 
lying  on  the  sofa,  as  usual,  seemingly  at  ease  ;  and  Ellen  was  sitting 
on  a  little  bench  before  the  fire,  very  much  at  her  ease,  indeed, 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  37 

without  any  seeming  about  it.  She  smiled  as  she  met  her  mother's 
eyes. 

"  You  have  made  me  very  happy  to-day,  mamma." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,  my  dear  child.  I  hoped  I  should.  I  believe  the 
whole  affair  has  given  me  as  much  pleasure,  Ellen,  as  it  has  you." 

There  was  a  pause. 

u  Mamma,  I  will  take  the  greatest  possible  care  of  my  new 
treasures." 

"  I  know  you  will.  If  I  had  doubted  it,  Ellen,  most  assuredly 
I  should  not  have  given  them  to  you,  sorry  as  I  should  have  been 
to  leave  you  without  them.  So  you  see  you  have  not  established  a 
character  for  carefulness  in  vain." 

"  And,  mamma,  I  hope  you  have  not  given  them  to  me  in  vain, 
either.  I  will  try  to  use  them  in  the  way  that  I  know  you  wish 
me  to ;  that  will  be  the  best  way  I  can  thank  you." 

"  Well,  I  have  left  you  no  excuse,  Ellen.  You  know  fully  what 
I  wish  you  to  do  and  to  be ;  and  when  I  am  away  I  shall  please 
myself  with  thinking  that  my  little  daughter  is  following  her 
mother's  wishes;  I  shall  believe  so,  Ellen.  -You  will  not  let  me  be 
disappointed?" 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma, "  said  Ellen,  who  was  now  in  her  mother's  arms. 

"  Well,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  in  a  lighter  tone, 
"  my  gifts  will  serve  as  reminders  for  you  if  you  are  ever  tempted 
to  forget  my  lessons.  If  you  fail  to  send  me  letters,  or  if  those 
you  send  are  not  what  they  ought  to  be,  I  think  the  desk  will  cry 
shame  upon  you.  And  if  you  ever  go  an  hour  with  a  hole  in  your 
stocking,  or  a  tear  in  your  dress,  or  a  string  off  your  petticoat,  I 
hope  the  sight  of  your  work-box  will  make  you  blush." 

"  Work-box,  mamma?" 

"  Yes.     Oh,  I  forgot;  you've  not  seen  that.'* 

"  No,  mamma ;  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  my  dear,  that  was  one  of  the  things  you  most  wanted, 
but  I  thought  it  best  not  to  overwhelm  you  quite  this  morning ;  so 
while  you  were  on  an  exploring  expedition  round  the  store  I  chose 
and  furnished  one  for  you." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  mamma!"  said  Ellen,  getting  up  and  clasping 
her  hands  ;  "  what  shall  I  do  ?  I  don't  know  what  to  say ;  I  can't 
say  anything.  Mamma,  it's  too  much." 

So  it  seemed,  for  Ellen  sat  down  and  began  to  cry.  Her  mother 
silently  reached  out  a  hand  to  her,  which  she  squeezed  and  kissed 
with  all  the  energy  of  gratitude,  love,  and  sorrow  ;  till  gently  drawn 
by  the  same  hand  she  was  placed  again  in  her  mother's  arms  and 
upon  her  bosom.  And  in  that  tried  resting-place  she  lay,  calmed 
and  quieted,  till  the  shades  of  afternoon  deepened  into  evening, 
and  evening  into  night,  and  the  light  of  the  fire  was  all  that  was 
left  to  them. 


38  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Though  not  a  word  had  been  spoken  for  a  long  time  Ellen  was 
not  asleep ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  red  glow  of  the  coals  in  the 
grate,  and  she  was  busily  thinking,  but  not  of  them.  Many  sober 
thoughts  were  passing  through  her  little  head,  and  stirring  her 
heart;  a  few  were  of  her  new  possessions  and  bright  projects, — 
more  of  her  mother.  She  was  thinking  how  very,  very  precious 
was  the  heart  she  could  feel  beating  where  her  cheek  lay— she 
thought  it  was  greater  happiness  to  lie  there  than  any  thing  else  in 
life  could  be — she  thought  she  had  rather  even  die  so,  on  her 
mother's  breast,  than  live  long  without  her  in  the  world — she  felt 
that  in  earth  or  in  heaven  there  was  nothing  so  dear.  Suddenly 
she  broke  the  silence. 

"  Mamma,  what  does  that  mean,  '  He  that  loveth  father  or 
mother  more  than  me,  is  not  worthy  of  me  ?'  " 

"  It  means  just  what  it  says.  If  you  love  anybody  or  anything 
better  than  Jesus  Christ,  you  cannot  be  one  of  his  children." 

"  But  then,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  raising  her  head;  how  can  I 
be  one  of  his  children  ?  I  do  love  you  a  great  deal  better ;  how 
can  I  help  it,  mamma?2' 

"  You  cannot  help  it,  I  know,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery, 
with  a  sigh,  "  except  by  His  grace  who  has  promised  to  change 
the  hearts  of  his  people — to  take  away  the  heart  of  stone  and  give 
them  a  heart  of  -flesh." 

"But  is  mine  a  heart  of  stone,  then,  mamma,  because  I  cannot 
help  loving  you  best?" 

"Not  tome,  dear  Ellen,"  replied  Mrs.  Montgomery,  pressing 
closer  the  little  form  that  lay  in  her  arms ;  "  I  have  never  found  it 
so.  But  yet  I  know  that  the  Lord  Jesus  is  far,  far  more  worthy 
of  your  affection  than  I  am,  and  if  your  heart  were  not  hardened 
by  sin  you  would  see  him  so  ;  it  is  only  because  you  do  not  know 
him  that  you  love  me  better.  Pray,  pray,  my  dear  child,  that  he 
would  take  away  the  power  of  sin,  and  show  you  himself;  that  is 
all  that  is  wanting." 

"I  will,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  tearfully.  "Oh,  mamma,  what 
shall  I  do  without  you?" 

Alas,  Mrs.  Montgomery's  heart  echoed  the  question;  she  had 
no  answer. 

"Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  few  minutes,  "can  I  have  no 
true  love  to  him  at  all  unless  I  love  him  best?" 

"  I  dare  not  say  that  you  can,"  answered  her  mother,  seriously. 

"Mamma,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  little,  again  raising  her  head  and 
looking  her  mother  full  in  the  face,  as  if  willing  to  apply  the  se 
verest  test  to  this  hard  doctrine,  and  speaking  with  an  indescribable 
expression,  "  do  you  love  him  better  than  you  do  me?" 

She  knew  her  mother  loved  the  Saviour,  but  she  thought  it 
scarcely  possible  that  herself  could  have  but  the  second  place  in 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  39 

her  heart;  she  ventured  a  bold  question  to  prove  whether  her 
mother's  practice  would  not  contradict  her  theory. 

But  Mrs.  Montgomery  answered  steadily,  "  I  do,  my' daughter ;" 
arid  with  a  gush  of  tears  Ellen  sunk  her  head  again  upon  her 
bosom.  She  had  no  more  to  say ;  her  mouth  was  stopped  for  ever 
as  to  the  right  of  the  matter,  though  she  still  thought  it  an  im 
possible  duty  in  her  own  particular  case. 

"  I  do  indeed,  my  daughter,"  repeated  Mrs.  Montgomery  ;  "  that 
does  not  make  my  love  to  you  the  less,  but  the  more,  Ellen." 

"  Oh,  mamma,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  clinging  to  her,  "  I  wish  you 
would  teach  me !  I  have  only  you,  and  I  am.  going  to  lose  you. 
What  shall'  I  do,  mamma  ?" 

With  a  voice  that  strove  to  be  calm  Mrs.  Montgomery  an 
swered,  "  '  I  love  them  that  love  me,  and  they  that  seek  me  early 
shall  find  me.'  "  And  after  a  minute  or  two  she  added,  "  He  who 
says  this,  has  promised  too  that  he  will  '  gather  the  lambs  with  his 
arm,  and  carry  them  in  his  bosom.'  " 

The  words  fell  soothingly  on  Ellen's  ear,  and  the  slight  tremor 
in  the  voice  reminded  her  also  that  her  mother  must  not  be  agi 
tated.  She  checked  herself  instantly,  and  soon  lay  as  before,  quiet 
and  still  on  her  mother's  bosom,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire ; 
and  Mrs.  Montgomery  did  not  know  that  when  she  now  and  then 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  the  forehead  that  lay  so  near  her  lips,  it  every 
time  brought  the  water  to  Ellen's  eyes  and  a  throb  to  her  heart. 
But  after  some  half  or  three-quarters  of  an  hour  had  passed  away, 
a  sudden  knock  at  the  door  found  both  mother  and  daughter 
asleep ;  it  had  to  be  repeated  once  or  twice  before  the  knocker 
could  gain  attention. 

"  What  is  that,  mamma?"   said  Ellen,  starting  up. 

"  Somebody  at  the  door.     Open  it  quickly,  love." 

Ellen  did  so,  and  found  a  man  standing  there,  with  his  arms 
rather  full  of  sundry  packages. 

"Oh,  mamma,  my  things  1"  cried  Ellen,  clapping  her  hands; 
"  here  they  are  !" 

The  man  placed  his  burden  on  the  table,  and  withdrew. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  I  am  so  glad  they  are  come !  Now  if  I  only 
had  a  light — this  is  my  desk,  I  know,  for  it's  the  largest;  and  I 
think  this  is  my  dressing-box,  as  well  as  I  can  tell  by  feeling — yes, 
it  is,  here's  the  hanchle  on  top ;  and  this  is  my  dear  work-box — not 
so  big  as  the  desk,  nor  so  little  as  the  dressing-box.  Oh,  mamma, 
mayn't  I  ring  for  a  light?" 

There  was  no  need,  for  a  servant  just  then  entered,  bringing  the 
wished-for  candles  and  the  not-wished-for  tea.  Ellen  was  capering 
about  in  the  most  fantastic  style,  but  suddenly  stopped  short 
at  sight  of  the  tea-things,  and  looked  very  grave.  "Well, 
mamma,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  she  said  after  a  pause  of  con- 


40  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

sideration ;  "  I'll  make  the  tea  the  first  thing,  before  I  untie  a 
single  knot  j  won't  that  be  best,  mamma  ?  Because  I  know  if  I 
once  begin  to  look,  I  shan't  want  to  stop.  Don't  you  think  that 
is  wise,  mamma?" 

But  alas !  the  fire  had  got  very  low ;  there  was  no  making  the 
tea  quickly  j  and  the  toast  was  a  work  of  time.  And  when  all  was 
over  at  length,  it  was  then  too  late  for  Ellen  to  begin  to  undo 
packages.  She  struggled  with  impatience  a  minute  or  two,  and 
then  gave  up  the  point  very  gracefully,  and  went  to  bed. 

She  had  a  fine  opportunity  the  next  day  to  make  up  for  the 
evening's  disappointment.  It  was  cloudy  and  stormy ;  going  out 
was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  it  was  very  unlikely  that  any  body 
would  come  in.  Ellen  joyfully  allotted  the  whole  morning  to  the 
examination  and  trial  of  her  new  possessions  ;  and  as  soon  as  break 
fast  was  over  and  the  room  clear  she  set  about  it.  She  first  went 
through  the  desk  and  every  thing  in  it,  making  a  running  com 
mentary  on  the  excellence,  fitness,  and  beauty  of  all  it  contained  ; 
then  the  dressing-box  received  a  share,  but  a  much  smaller  share, 
of  attention ;  and  lastly,  with  fingers  trembling  with  eagerness  she 
untied  the  packthread  that  was  wound  round  the  work-box,  and 
slowly  took  off  cover  after  cover ;  she  almost  screamed  when  the 
last  was  removed.  The  box  was  of  satin-wood,  beautifully  finished, 
and  lined  with  crimson  silk;  and  Mrs.  Montgomery  had  taken 
good  care  it  should  want  nothing  that  Ellen  might  need  to  keep 
her  clothes  in  perfect  order. 

"  Oh,  mamma,  how  beautiful !  Oh,  mamma,  how  good  you  are  ! 
Mamma,  I  promise  you  I'll  never  be  a  slattern.  Here  is  more 
cotton  than  I  can  use  up  in  a  great  while — every  number,  I  do 
think ;  and  needles,  oh,  the  needles !  what  a  parcel  of  them  !  and, 
mamma  !  what  a  lovely  scissors !  did  you  choose  it,  mamma,  or  did 
it  belong  to  the  box  ?" 

"  I  chose  it." 

"  I  might  have  guessed  it,  mamma,  it's  just  like  you.  And 
here's  a  thimble — fits  me  exactly;  and  an  emery-bag !  how  pretty! 
— and  a  bodkin  !  this  is  a  great  deal  nicer  than  yours,  mamma — 
yours  is  decidedly  the  worse  for  wear ; — and  what's  this  ? — Oh,  to 
make  eyelet  holes  with,  I  know.  And  oh,  mamma  !  here  is  almost 
every  thing,  I  think — here  are  tapes,  and  buttons,  and  hooks  and 
eyes,  and  darning  cotton,  and  silk-winders,  and  pins,  and  all  sorts 
of  things.  What's  this  for,  mamma?" 

"  That's  a  scissors  to  cut  button-holes  with.  Try  it  on  that  piece 
of  paper  that  lies  by  you,  and  you  will  see  how  it  works." 

"  Oh,  I  see  !"  said  Ellen,  "  how  very  nice  that  is.  Well,  I  shall 
take  great  pains  now  to  make  my  button-holes  very  handsomely." 

One  survey  of  her  riches  could  by  no  means  satisfy  Ellen.  For 
some  time  she  pleased  herself  with  going  over  and  over  the  con- 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  41 

tents  of  the  box,  finding  each  time  something  new  to  like.  At 
length  she  closed  it,  and  keeping  it  still  in  her  lap,  sat  awhile 
looking  thoughtfully  into  the  fire ;  till  turning  toward  her  mother 
she  met  her  gaze,  fixed  mourntully,  almost  tearfully,  on  herself. 
The  box  was  instantly  shoved  aside,  and  getting  up  and  bursting 
into  tears,  Ellen  went  to  her.  "Oh,  dear  mother,"  she  said,  "I 
wish  they  were  all  back  in  the  store,  if  I  could  only  keep  you !" 

Mrs.  Montgomery  answered  only  by  folding  her  to  her  heart. 

"  Is  there  no  help  for  it,  mamma?" 

"  There  is  none. — We  know  that  all  things  shall  work  together 
for  good  to  them  that  love  God." 

"  Then  it  will  be  all  good  for  you,  mamma,  but  what  will  it  be 
forme?"  And  Ellen  sobbed  bitterly. 

"  It  will  be  all  well,  my  precious  child,  I  doubt  not.  I  do  not 
doubt  it,  Ellen.  Do  you  not  doubt  it  either,  love ;  but  from  the 
hand  that  wounds,  seek  the  healing.  He  wounds  that  he  may 
heal.  He  does  not  afflict  willingly.  Perhaps  he  sees,  Ellen,  that 
you  never  would  seek  him  while  you  had  me  to  cling  to." 

Ellen  clung  to  her  at  that  moment!  yet  not  more  than  her 
mother  clung  to  her. 

"  How  happy  we  were,  mamma,  only  a  year  ago, — even  a 
month." 

"  We  have  no  continuing  city  here,"  answered  her  mother,  with 
a  sigh.  "  But  there  is  a  home,  Ellen,  where  changes  do  not  come ; 
and  they  that  are  once  gathered  there  are  parted  no  more  for  ever ; 
and  all  tears  are  wiped  from  their  eyes.  I  believe  I  am  going  fast 
to  that  home  ;  and  now  my  greatest  concern  is,  that  my  little  Ellen 
— my  precious  baby — may  follow  me  and  come  there  too." 

No  more  was  said,  nor  could  be  said,  till  the  sound  of  the  doc 
tor's  steps  upon  the  stair  obliged  each  of  them  to  assume  an  ap 
pearance  of  composure  as  speedily  as  possible.  But  they  could 
not  succeed  perfectly  enough  to  blind  him.  He  did  not  seem  very 
well  satisfied,  and  told  Ellen  he  believed  he  should  have  to  get 
another  nurse, — he  was  afraid  she  didn't  obey  orders. 

While  the  doctor  was  there  Ellen's  Bible  was  brought  in ;  and 
no  sooner  was  he  gone  than  it  underwent  as  thorough  an  examina 
tion  as  the  boxes  had  received.  Ellen  went  over  every  part  of  it 
with  the  same  great  care  and  satisfaction  ;  but  mixed  with  a  different 
feeling.  The  words  that  caught  her  eye  as  she  turned  over  the 
leaves  seemed  to  echo  what  her  mother  had  been  saying  to  her. 
It  began  to  grow  dear  already.  After  a  little  she  rose  and  brought 
it  to  the  sofa. 

"Are  you  satisfied  with  it,  Ellen?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  mamma ;  it  is  perfectly  beautiful,  outside  and  inside. 
Now,  mamma,  will  you  please  to  write  my  name  in  this  precious 
book — 'iny  name,  and  any  thing  else  you  please,  mother.  I'll 

4* 


42  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

bring  you  my  new  pen  to  write  it  with,  and  I've  got  ink  here : — 
shall  I  ?" 

She  brought  it;  and  Mrs.  Montgomery  wrote  Ellen's  name,  and 
the  date  of  the  gift.  The  pen  played  a  moment  in  her  fingers, 
and  then  she  wrote  below  the  date : 

"  'I  love  them  that  love  me;  and  they  that  seek  me  early  shall 
find  me.'  " 

This  was  for  Ellen  ;  but  the  next  words  were  not  for  her ;  what 
made  her  write  them  ? — 

"  'I  will  be  a  God  to  thee,  and  to  thy  seed  after  thee.'  " 

They  were  written  almost  unconsciously,  and  as  if  bowed  by  an 


unseen  force  Mrs.  Montgomery's  head  sank  upon  the  open  page ; 
and  her  whole  soul  went  up  with  her  petition  : 

"  Let  these  words  be  my  memorial,  that  I  have  trusted  in  thee. 
And  oh,  when  these  miserable  lips  are  silent  for  ever,  remember 
the  word  unto  thy  servant,  upon  which  thou  hast  caused  me  to 
hope ;  and  be  unto  my  little  one  all  thou  hast  been  to  me.  Unto 
thee  lift  I  up  mine  eyes,  0  thou  that  dwellest  in  the  heavens !" 

She  raised  her  face  from  the  book,  closed  it,  and  gave  it  silently 
to  Ellen.  Ellen  had  noticed  her  action,  but  had  no  suspicion  of 
the  cause  ;  she  supposed  that  one  of  her  mother's  frequent  feelings 
of  weakness  or  sickness  had  made  her  lean  her  head  upon  the 
Bible,  and  she  thought  no  more  about  it.  However,  Ellen  felt 
that  she  wanted  no  more  of  her  boxes  that  day.  She  took  her 
old  place  by  the  side  of  her  mother's  sofa,  with  her  head  upon  her 
mother's  hand,  and  an  expression  of  quiet  sorrow  in  her  face  that 
it  had  not  worn  for  several  days. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WOULD.  43 


CHAPTER  V. 

My  child  is  yet  a  stranger  in  the  world, 

She  hath  not  seen  the  change  of  fourteen  years. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  next  day  would  not  do  for  the  intended  shopping  j  nor  the 
next.  The  third  day  was  fine,  though  cool  and  windy. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  venture  out  to-day,  mamma?"  said 
Ellen. 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  I  do  not  feel  quite  equal  to  it ;  and  the  wind 
is  a  great  deal  too  high  for  me  besides.'' 

1  'Well,"  said  Ellen,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  is  making  up  her 
mind  to  something,  "  we  shall  have  a  fine  day  by  and  by,  I  suppose, 
if  we  wait  long  enough ;  we  had  to  wait  a  great  while  for  our  first 
shopping  day.  I  wish  such  another  would  come  round." 

"  But  the  misfortune  is,"  said  her  mother,  "  that  we  cannot  afford 
to  wait.  November  will  soon  be  here,  and  your  clothes  may  be 
suddenly  wanted  before  they  are  ready,  if  we  do  not  bestir  ourselves. 
And  Miss  Rice  is  coming  in  a  few  days — I  ought  to  have  the  merino 
ready  for  her." 

"  What  will  you  do,  mamma?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  indeed,  Ellen  ;  I  am  greatly  at  a  loss." 

"  Couldn't  papa  get  the  stuffs  for  you,  mamma?" 

"  No,  he's  too  busy  ;  and  besides,  he  knows  nothing  at  all  about 
shopping  for  me ;  he  would  be  sure  to  bring  me  exactly  what  I  do 
not  want.  I  tried  that  once." 

"Well,  what  will  you  do,  mamma?  Is  there  nobody  else  you 
could  ask  to  get  the  things  for  you  ?  Mrs.  Foster  would  do  it, 
mamma !" 

"  I  know  she  would,  and  I  should  ask  her  without  any  difficulty, 
but  she  is  confined  to  her  room  with  a  cold.  I  see  nothing  for  it 
but  to  be  patient  and  let  things  take  their  course,  though  if  a  favor 
able  opportunity  should  offer,  you  would  have  to  go,  clothes  or  no 
clothes;  it  would  not  do  to  lose  the  chance  of  a  good  escort." 

And  Mrs.  Montgomery's  face  showed  that  this  possibility,  of 
Ellen's  going  unprovided,  gave  her  some  uneasiness.  Ellen  ob 
served  it. 

"Never  mind  me,  dearest  mother ;  don't  be  in  the  least  worried 
about  my  clothes.  You  don't  know  how  little  I  think  of  them  or 
care  for  them.  It's  no  matter  at  all  whether  I  have  them  or  not." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  smiled,  and  passed  her  hand  fondly  over  her 
little  daughter's  head,  but  presently  resumed  her  anxious  look  out 
of  the  window. 


44  THE    WIDE,  WIDE    WORLD. 

"Mamma!"  exclaimed  Ellen,  suddenly  starting  up,  "a  bright 
thought  has  just  come  into  my  head  !  I'll  do  it  for  you,  mamma  1" 

"Do  what?" 

"  I'll  get  the  merino  and  things  for  you,  mamma.  You  needn't 
smile, — I  will,  indeed,  if  you  will  let  me." 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  said  her  mother,  "I  don't  doubt  you  would 
if  goodwill  only  were  wanting  ;  but  a  great  deal  of  skill  and  ex- 
perience  is  necessary  for  a  shopper,  and  what  would  you  do  without 
either?" 

"But  see,  mamma,"  pursued  Ellen,  eagerly,  "I'll  tell  you  how 
I'll  manage,  and  I  know  I  can  manage  very  well.  You  tell  me 
exactly  what  coloured  merino  you  want,  and  give  me  a  little  piece  to 
show  me  how  fine  it  should  be,  and  tell  me  what  price  you  wish  to 
give,  and  then  I'll  go  to  the  store  and  ask  them  to  show  me  different 
pieces,  you  know,  and  if  I  see  any  I  think  you  would  like,  I'll  ask 
them  to  give  me  a  little  bit  of  it  to  show  you ;  and  then  I'll  bring 
it  home,  and  if  you  like  it  you  can  give  me  the  money,  and  tell  me 
how  many  yards  you  want,  and  I  can  go  back  to  the  store  and  get 
it.  Why  can't  I,  mamma?" 

"  Perhaps  you  could ;  but  my  dear  child  I  am  afraid  you  wouldn't 
like  the  business." 

"  Yes  I  should  ;  indeed,  mamma,  I  should  like  it  dearly  if  I 
could  help  you  so.  Will  you  let  me  try,  mamma?" 

"I  don't  like,  my  child,  to  venture  you  alone  on  such  an  errand, 
among  crowds  of  people  ;  I  should  be  uneasy  about  you." 

"  Dear  mamma,  what  would  the  crowds  of  people  do  to  me  ?  I 
am  not  a  bit  afraid.  You  know,  mamma,  I  have  often  taken  walks 
alone, — that's  nothing  new ;  and  what  harm  should  come  to  me 
while  I  am  in  the  store  ?  You  needn't  be  the  least  uneasy  about 
me; — may  I  go?" 

Mrs.  Montgomery  smiled,  but  was  silent. 

"  May  I  go,  mamma  ?"  repeated  Ellen.  "  Let  me  go  at  least  and 
try  what  I  can  do.  What  do  you  say,  mamma  ?' ' 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  my  daughter,  but  I  am  in  difficulty 
on  either  hand.  I  will  let  you  go  and  see  what  you  can  do.  It 
would  be  a  great  relief  to  me  to  get  this  merino  by  any  means." 

"  Then  shall'I  go  right  away,  mamma?" 

"  As  well  now  as  ever.      You  are  not  afraid  of  the  wind  ?" 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Ellen;  and  away  she  scampered  up 
stairs  to  get  ready.  With  eager  haste  she  dressed  herself;  then 
with  great  care  and  particularity  took  her  mother's  instructions  as 
to  the  article  wanted ;  and  finally  set  out,  sensible  that  a  great 
trust  was  reposed  in  her,  and  feeling  busy  and  important  accord 
ingly.  But  at  the  very  bottom  of  Ellen's  heart  there  was  a  little 
secret  doubtfulness  respecting  her  undertaking.  She  hardly  knew 
it  was  there,  but  then  she  couldn't  tell  what  it  was  that  made  her 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  45 

fingers  so  inclined  to  be  tremulous  while  she  was  dressing,  and  that 
made  her  heart  beat  quicker  than  it  ought,  or  than  was  pleasant, 
and  one  of  her  cheeks  so  much  hotter  than  the  other.  However, 
she  set  forth  upon  her  errand  with  a  very  brisk  step,  which  she 
kept  up  till  on  turning  a  corner  she  came  in  sight  of  the  place  she 
was  going  to.  Without  thinking  much  about  it,  Ellen  had  directed 
her  steps  to  St.  Glair  and  Fleury's.  It  was  one  of  the  largest  and 
best  stores  in  the  city,  and  the  one  she  knew  where  her  mother 
generally  made  her  purchases  ;  and  it  did  not  occur  to  her  that  it 
might  not  be  the  best  for  her  purpose  on  this  occasion.  But  her 
steps  slackened  as  soon  as  she  came  in  sight  of  it,  and  continued 
to  slacken  as  she  drew  nearer,  and  she  went  up  the  broad  flight  of 
marble  steps  in  front  of  the  store  very  slowly  indeed,  though  they 
were  exceeding  low  and  easy.  Pleasure  was  not  certainly  the 
uppermost  feeling  in  her  mind  now  ;  yet  she  never  thought  of 
turning  back.  She  knew  that  if  she  could  succeed  in  the  object 
of  her  mission  her  mother  would  be  relieved  from  some  anxiety ; 
that  was  enough ;  she  was  bent  on  accomplishing  it. 

Timidly  she  entered  the  large  hall  of  entrance.  It  was  full  of 
people,  and  the  buzz  of  business  was  heard  on  all  sides.  Ellen 
had  for  some  time  past  seldom  gone  a  shopping  with  her  mother, 
and  had  never  been  in  this  store  but  once  or  twice  before.  She 
had  not  the  remotest  idea  where,  or  in  what  apartment  of  the 
building,  the  merino  counter  was  situated,  and  she  could  see  no  one 
to  speak  to.  She  stood  irresolute  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Every 
body  seemed  to  be  busily  engaged  with  somebody  else  ;  and  when 
ever  an  opening  on  one  side  or  another  appeared  to  promise  her  an 
opportunity,  it  was  sure  to  be  filled  up  before  she  could  reach  it, 
and  disappointed  and  abashed  she  would  return  to  her  old  station 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  Clerks  frequently  passed  her,  crossing 
the  store  in  all  directions,  but  they  were  always  bustling  along  in 
a  great  hurry  of  business ;  they  did  not  seem  to  notice  her  at  all, 
and  were  gone  before  poor  Ellen  could  get  her  mouth  open  to  speak 
to  them.  She  knew  well  enough  now,  poor  child,  what  it  was  that 
made  her  cheeks  burn  as  they  did,  and  her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would 
burst  its  bounds.  She  felt  confused,  and  almost  confounded,  by  the 
incessant  hum  of  voices,  and  moving  crowd  of  strange  people  all 
around  her,  while  her  little  figure  stood  alone  and  unnoticed  in  the 
midst  of  them  ;  and  there  seemed  no  prospect  that  she  would  be 
able  to  gain  the  ear  or  the  eye  of  a  single  person.  Once  she  de 
termined  to  accost  a  man  she  saw  advancing  toward  her  from  a 
distance,  and  actually  made  up  to  him  for  the  purpose,  but  with  a 
hurried  bow,  and  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  miss !"  he  brushed  past. 
Ellen  almost  burst  into  tears.  She  longed  to  turn  and  run  out  of 
the  store,  but  a  faint  hope  remaining,  and  an  unwillingness  to  give 
up  her  undertaking,  kept  her  fast.  At  length  one  of  the  clerks  in 


46  THE    WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD. 

the  desk  observed  her,  and  remarked  to  Mr.  St.  Glair  who  stood  by, 
"  There  is  a  little  girl,  sir,  who  seems  to  be  looking  for  something, 
or  waiting  for  somebody;  she  has  been  standing  there  a  good 
while."  Mr.  St.  Clair,  upon  this,  advanced  to  poor  Ellen's  relief. 

"  What  do  you  wish,  miss?"  he  said. 

But  Ellen  had  been  so  long  preparing  sentences,  trying  to  utter 
them  and  failing  in  the  attempt,  that  now,  when  an  opportunity  to 
speak  and  be  heard  was  given  her,  the  power  of  speech  seemed  to 
be  gone. 

"Do  you  wish  any  thing,  miss?"  inquired  Mr.  St.  Clair  again. 

"Mother  sent  me,"  stammered  Ellen, — "I  wish,  if  you  please, 
sir, — mamma  wished  me  to  look  at  merinoes,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  Is  your  mamma  in  the  store  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "  she  is  ill,  and  cannot  come  out,  and  she 
sent  me  to  look  at  merinoes  for  her,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  Here,  Saunders,"  said  Mr.  St.  Clair,  "  show  this  young  lady 
the  merinoes." 

Mr.  Saunders  made  his  appearance  from  among  a  little  group  of 
clerks,  with  whom  he  had  been  indulging  in  a  few  jokes  by  way 
of  relief  from  the  tedium  of  business.  "  Come  this  way,"  he  said 
to  Ellen ;  and  sauntering  before  her,  with  a  rather  dissatisfied  air, 
led  the  way  out  of  the  entrance  hall  into  another  and  much  larger 
apartment.  There  were  plenty  of  people  here  too,  and  just  as 
busy  as  those  they  had  quitted.  Mr.  Saunders  having  brought 
Ellen  to  the  merino  counter,  placed  himself  behind  it ;  and  leaning 
over  it  and  fixing  his  eyes  carelessly  upon  her,  asked  what  she 
wanted  to  look  at.  His  tone  and  manner  struck  Ellen  most  un 
pleasantly,  and  made  her  again  wish  herself  out  of  the  store.  He 
was  a  tall  lank  young  man,  with  a  quantity  of  fair  hair  combed 
down  on  each  side  of  his  face,  a  slovenly  exterior,  and  the  most 
disagreeable  pair  of  eyes,  Ellen  thought,  she  had  ever  beheld.  She 
could  not  bear  to  meet  them,  and  cast  down  her  own.  Their  look 
was  bold,  ill-bred,  and  ill-humoured ;  and  Ellen  felt,  though  she 
couldn't  have  told  why,  that  she  need  not  expect  either  kindness 
or  politeness  from  him. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  see,  little  one?"  inquired  this  gentlemen, 
as  if  he  had  a  business  on  hand  he  would  like  to  be  rid  of.  Ellen 
heartily  wished  he  was  rid  of  it,  and  she  too.  "  Merinoes,  if  you 
please,"  she  answered,  without  looking  up. 

"Well,  what  kind  of  merinoes?  Here  are  all  sorts  and  de 
scriptions  of  merinoes,  and  I  can't  pull  them  all  down,  you  know, 
for  you  to  look  at.  What  kind  do  you  want?" 

"  I  don't  know  without  looking,"  said  Ellen,  "  won't  you  please 
to  show  me  some  ?" 

He  tossed  down  several  pieces  upon  the  counter,  and  tumbled 
them  about  before  her. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  47 

"There,"  said  he,  "is  that  any  thing  like  what  you  want? 
There's  a  pink  one, — and  there's  a  blue  one, — and  there's  a  green 
one.  Is  that  the  kind  ?" 

.  "This  is  the  kind,"  said  Ellen  j   "but  this  isn't  the  colour  I 
want." 

"  What  colour  do  you  want?" 

"Something  dark,  if  you  please." 

"Well,  there,  that  green's  dark;  won't  that  do?  See,  that 
would  make  up  very  pretty  for  you." 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "mamma  don't  like  green." 

"Why  don't  she  come  and  choose  her  stuffs  herself,  then? 
What  colour  does  she  like?" 

"Dark  blue,  or  dark  brown,  or  a  nice  grey,  would  do,"  said 
Ellen,  "if  it  is  fine  enough." 

"'Dark  blue,'  or  'dark  brown/  or  a  'nice  grey,'  eh  1  Well, 
she's  pretty  easy  to  suit.  A  dark  blue  I've  showed  you  already, 
— what's  the  matter  with  that?" 

"  It  isn't  dark  enough,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,"  said  he  discontentedly,  pulling  down  another  piece, 
"  how' 11  that  do  ?  That's  dark  enough." 

It  was  a  fine  and  beautiful  piece,  very  different  from  those  he 
had  showed  her  at  first.  Even  Ellen  could  see  that,  and  fumbling 
for  her  little  pattern  of  merino,  she  compared  it  with  the  piece. 
They  agreed  perfectly  as  to  fineness. 

"What  is  the  price  of  this?"  she  asked,  with  trembling  hope 
that  she  was  going  to  be  rewarded  by  success  for  all  the  trouble 
of  her  enterprise. 

"  Two  dollars  a  yard." 

Her  hopes  and  countenance  fell  together.  "That's  too  high," 
she  said  with  a  sigh. 

"Then  take  this  other  blue;  come, — it's  a  great  deal  prettier 
than  that  dark  one,  and  not  so  dear ;  and  I  know  your  mother  will 
like  it  better." 

Ellen's  cheeks  were  tingling  and  her  heart  throbbing,  but  she 
couldn't  bear  to  give  up. 

"  Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  show  me  some  grey?" 

He  slowly  and  ill-humouredly  complied,  and  took  down  an  ex 
cellent  piece  of  dark  grey,  which  Ellen  fell  in  love  with  at  once ; 
but  she  was  again  disappointed ;  it  was  fourteen  shillings. 

"Well,  if  you  won't  take  that,  take  something  else,"  said  the 
man  •  "  you  can't  have  every  thing  at  once  ;  if  you  will  have  cheap 
goods  of  course  you  can't  have  the  same  quality  that  you  like; 
but  now  here's  this  other  blue,  only  twelve  shillings,  and  I'll  let 
you  have  it  for  ten  if  you'll  take  it." 

"No,  it  is  too  light  and  too  coarse,"  said  Ellen,  "mamma 
wouldn't  like  it," 


48  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

11  Let  me  see,"  said  he,  seizing  her  pattern  and  pretending  to 
compare  it ;  "  it's  quite  as  fine  as  this,  if  that's  all  you  want." 

"  Could  you,"  said  Ellen  timidly,  "  give  me  a  little  bit  of  this 
grey  to  show  mamma  ?"  t 

"Oh,  no!"  said  he,  impatiently,  tossing  over  the  cloths  and 
throwing  Ellen's  pattern  on  the  floor  ;  "we  can't  cut  up  our  goods ; 
if  people  don't  choose  to  buy  of  us  they  may  go  somewhere  else, 
and  if  you  cannot  decide  upon  any  thing  I  must  go  and  attend  to 
those  that  can.'  I  can't  wait  here  all  day." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Saunders  ?"  said  one  of  his  brother  clerks, 
passing  him. 

"  Why,  I've  been  here  this  half  hour  showing  cloths  to  a  child 
that  doesn't  know  merino  from  a  sheep's  back,"  said  he,  laughing. 
And  some  other  customers  coming  up  at  the  moment,  he  was  as 
good  as  his  word,  and  left  Ellen,  to  attend  to  them. 

Ellen  stood  a  moment  stock  still,  just  where  he  had  left  her, 
struggling  with  her  feelings  of  mortification  ;  she  could  not  endure 
to  let  them  be  seen.  Her  face  was  on  fire ;  her  head  was  dizzy. 
She  could  not  stir  at  first,  and  in  spite  of  her  utmost  efforts  she 
could  not  command  back  one  or  two  rebel  tears  that  forced  their 
way  ;  she  lifted  her  hand  to  her  face  to  remove  them  as  quietly  as 
possible.  "  What  is  all  this  about,  my  little  girl?"  said  a  strange 
voice  at  her  side.  Ellen  started,  and  turned  her  face,  with  the 
tears  but  half  wiped  away,  toward  the  speaker.  It  was  an  old 
gentleman,  an  odd  old  gentleman  too,  she  thought ;  one  she  cer 
tainly  would  have  been  rather  shy  of  if  she  had  seen  him  under 
other  circumstances.  But  though  his  face  was  odd,  it  looked 
kindly  upon  her,  and  it  was  a  kind  tone  of  voice  in  which  his 
question  had  been  put;  so  he  seemed  to  her  like  a  friend.  "  What 
is  all  this?"  repeated  the  old  gentleman.  Ellen  began  to  tell  what 
it  was,  but  the  pride  which  had  forbidden  her  to  weep  before 
strangers  gave  way  at  one  touch  of  sympathy,  and  she  poured  out 
tears  much  faster  than  words  as  she  related  her  story,  so  that  it 
was  some  little  time  before  the  old  gentleman  could  get  a  clear 
notion  of  her  case.  He  waited  very  patiently  till  she  had  finished ; 
but  then  he  set  himself  in  good  earnest  about  righting  the  wrong. 
"  Hallo !  you,  sir!"  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  that  made  every  body 
look  round;  "you  merino  man !  come  and  show  your  goods: 
why  aren't  you  at  your  post,  sir?" — as  Mr.  Saunders  came  up 
with  an  altered  countenance — "here's  a  young  lady  you've  left 
standing  unattended-to  I  don't  know  how  long;  are  these  your 
manners?" 

"  The  young  lady  did  not  wish  any  thing,  I  believe,  sir,"  returned 
Mr.  Saunders  softly. 

"You  know  better,  you  scoundrel,"  retorted  the  old  gentleman, 
who  was  in  a  great  passion;  "I  saw  the  whole  matter  with  my 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  49 

own  eyes.     You  are  a  disgrace  to  the  store,  sir,  and  deserve  to  be 
sent  out  of  it,  which  you  are  like  enough  to  be." 

"I  really  thought,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Saunders,  smoothly, — for  he 
knew  the  old  gentleman,  and  knew  very  well  he  was  a  person  that 
must  not  be  offended, — "I  really  thought — I  was  not  aware,  sir, 
that  the  young  lady  had  any  occasion  for  my  services." 

"  Well,  show  your  wares,  sir,  and  hold  your  tongue.  Now,  my 
dear,  what  did  you  want?" 

"  I  wanted  a  little  bit  of  this  grey  merino,  sir,  to  show  to 
mamma  ; — I  couldn't  buy  it,  you  know,  sir,  until  I  found  out 
whether  she  would  like  it." 

"  Cut  a  piece,  sir,  without  any  words,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
Mr.  Saunders  obeyed. 

"Did  you  like  this  best?"  pursued  the  old  gentleman. 

"I  like  this  dark  blue  very  much,  sir,  and  I  thought  mamma 
would  ;  but  it's  too  high." 

"  How  much  is  it  ?"  inquired  he. 

"Fourteen  shillings,"  replied  Mr.  Saunders. 

"  He  said  it  was  two  dollars !"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  the  crest-fallen  Mr.  Saunders,  "the  young 
lady  mistook  me ;  I  was  speaking  of  another  piece  when  I  said 
two  dollars." 

"  He  said  this  was  two  dollars,  and  the  grey  fourteen  shillings," 
said  Ellen. 

"  Is  the  grey  fourteen  shillings,"  inquired  the  old  gentleman. 

"I  think  not,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Saunders — "I  believe  not, 
sir, — I  think  it's  only  twelve, — I'll  inquire,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  know  it  was  only  twelve 
— I  know  your  tricks,  sir.  Cut  a  piece  off  the  blue.  Now,  my 
dear,  are  there  any  more  pieces  of  which  you  would  like  to  take 
patterns,  to  show  your  mother  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  overjoyed  Ellen;  "I  am  sure  she  will  like 
one  of  these." 

"  Now  shall  we  go,  then  ?" 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  should  like  to  have  my  bit 
of  merino  that  I  brought  from  home ;  mamma  wanted  me  to  bring 
it  back  again." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  That  gentleman  threw  it  on  the  floor." 

"  Do  you  hear,  sir?"  said  the  old  gentleman  ;   "  find  it  directly." 

Mr.  Saunders  found  and  delivered  it,  after  stooping  in  search  of 
it  till  he  was  very  red  in  the  face  ;  and  he  was  left,  wishing  heartily 
that  he  had  some  safe  means  of  revenge,  and  obliged  to  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  none  was  within  his  reach,  and  that  he  must 
stomach  his  indignity  in  the  best  manner  he  could.  But  Ellen  and 
her  protector  went  forth  most  joyously  together  from  the  store. 
C  d  5 


50  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Do  you  live  far  from  here  ?"  asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "  not  very  ;  it's  only  at  Green's  Hotel, 
in  Southing  street." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  he,  "  and  when  your  mother  has  decided 
which  merino  she  will  have,  we'll  come  right  back  and  get  it.  I 
do  not  want  to  trust  you  again  to  the  mercy  of  that  saucy  clerk." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir!"  said  Ellen,  "that  is  just  what  I  was 
afraid  of.  But  I  shall  be  giving  you  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  sir," 
she  added,  in  another  tone. 

"No  you  won't,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "I  can't  be  troubled, 
so  you  needn't  say  any  thing  about  that." 

They  went  gayly  along — Ellen's  heart  about  five  times  as  light 
as  the  one  with  which  she  had  travelled  that  very  road  a  little 
while  before.  Her  old  friend  was  in  a  very  cheerful  mood  too,  for 
he  assured  Ellen  laughingly,  that  it  was  of  no  manner  of  use  for 
her  to  be  in  a  hurry,  for  he  could  not  possibly  set  off  and  skip  to 
Green's  Hotel,  as  she  seemed  inclined  to  do.  They  got  there  at 
last.  Ellen  showed  the  old  gentleman  into  the  parlour,  and  ran  up 
stairs  in  great  haste  to  her  mother.  But  in  a  few  minutes  she 
came  down  again,  with  a  very  April  face,  for  smiles  were  playing 
in  every  feature,  while  the  tears  were  yet  wet  upon  her  cheeks. 

"  Mamma  hopes  you'll  take  the  trouble,  sir,  to  come  up  stairs," 
she  said,  seizing  his  hand ;  "  she  wants  to  thank  you  herself,  sir." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "it  is  riot  neces 
sary  at  all ;"  but  he  followed  his  little  conductor  nevertheless  to 
the  door  of  her  mother's  room,  into  which  she  ushered  him  with 
great  satisfaction. 

Mrs.  Montgomery  was  looking  very  ill — he  saw  that  at  a  glance. 
She  rose  from  her  sofa,  and  extending  her  hand  thanked  him  with 
glistening  eyes  for  his  kindness  to  her  child. 

"I  don't  deserve  any  thanks,  ma'am,"  said  the  old  gentleman; 
"  I  suppose  my  little  friend  has  told  you  what  made  us  acquainted  ?" 

"She  gave  me  a  very  short  account  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery. 

"  She  was  very  disagreeably  tried,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  I 
presume  you  do  not  need  to  be  told,  ma'am,  that  her  behaviour  was 
such  as  would  have  become  any  years.  I  assure  you,  ma'am,  if  I 
had  had  no  kindness  in  my  composition  to  feel  for  the  child,  my 
honour  as  a  gentleman  would  have  made  me  interfere  for  the  lady" 

Mrs.  Montgomery  smiled,  but  looked  through  glistening  eyes 
again  on  Ellen.  "  I  am  'very  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  replied.  "  I  was 
very  far  from  thinking,  when  I  permitted  her  to  go  on  this  errand, 
that  I  was  exposing  her  to  any  thing  more  serious  than  the  annoy 
ance  a  timid  child  would  feel  at  having  to  transact  business  with 
strangers." 

"I suppose  not,"  said  the  old  gentleman;   "but  it  isn't  a  sort 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD  51 

of  thing  that  should  be  often  done.  There  are  all  sorts  of  people 
in  this  world,  and  a  little  one  alone  in  a  crowd  is  in  danger  of  being 
trampled  upon." 

Mrs.  Montgomery's  heart  answered  this  with  an  involuntary 
pang.  He  saw  the  shade  that  passed  over  her  face  as  she  said 
sadly  : 

"I  know  it,  sir;  and  it  was  with  strong  unwillingness  that  I 
allowed  Ellen  this  morning  to  do  as  she  had  proposed ;  but  in  truth 
I  was  but  making  a  choice  between  difficulties.  I  am  very  sorry 
I  chose  as  I  did.  If  you  are  a  father,  sir,  you  know  better  than  I 
can  tell  you,  how  grateful  I  am  for  your  kind  interference." 

"  Say  nothing  about  that,  ma'am  ;  the  less  the  better.  I  am  an 
old  man,  and  not  good  for  much  now,  except  to  please  young  peo 
ple.  I  think  myself  best  off  when  I  have  the  best  chance  to  do 
that.  So  if  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  choose  that  merino,  and  let 
Miss  Ellen  and  me  go  and  despatch  our  business,  you  will  be  con 
ferring  and  not  receiving  a  favour.  And  any  other  errand  that  you 
please  to  intrust  her  with  I'll  undertake  to  see  her  safe  through." 

His  look  and  manner  obliged  Mrs.  Montgomery  to  take  him  at 
his  word.  A  very  short  examination  of  Ellen's  patterns  ended  in 
favour  of  the  grey  merino ;  and  -Ellen  was  commissioned  not  only 
to  get  and  pay  for  this,  but  also  to  choose  a  dark  dress  of  the  same 
stuff,  and  enough  of  a  certain  article  called  nankeen  for  a  coat ; 
Mrs.  Montgomery  truly  opining  that  the  old  gentleman's  care  would 
do  more  than  see  her  scathless, — that  it  would  have  some  regard  to 
the  justness  and  prudence  of  her  purchases. 

In  great  glee  Ellen  set  forth  again  with  her  new  old  friend.  Her 
hand  was  fast  in  his,  and  her  tongue  ran  very  freely,  for  her  heart 
was  completely  opened  to  him.  He  seemed  as  pleased  to  listen  as 
she  was  to  talk ;  and  by  little  and  little  Ellen  told  him  all  her  his 
tory  ;  the  troubles  that  had  come  upon  her  in  consequence  of  her 
mother's  illness,  and  her  intended  journey  and  prospects. 

That  was  a  happy  day  to  Ellen.  They  returned  to  St.  Clair  and 
Fleury's ;  bought  the  grey  merino,  and  the  nankeen,  and  a  dark 
brown  merino  for  a  dress.  "  Do  you  want  only  one  of  these  ?" 
asked  the  old  gentleman. 

"  Mamma  said  only  one,"  said  Ellen  ;  "that  will  last  me  all  the 
winter." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  think  two  will  do  better.  Let  us  have 
another  off  the  same  piece,  Mr.  Shopman." 

"  But  I  am  afraid  mamma  won't  like  it,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  gently. 

"  Pho,  pho,"  said  he,  "  your  mother  has  nothing  to  do  with  this ; 
this  is  my  affair."  He  paid  for  it  accordingly.  "  Now,  Miss  Ellen," 
said  he,  when  they  left  the  store,  "have  you  got  any  thing  in  the 
shape  of  a  good  warm  winter  bonnet?  For  it's  as  cold  as  the 
mischief  up  there  in  Thirl  wall ;  your  pasteboard  things  won't  do  j 


52  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

if  you  don't  take  good  care  of  your  ears  you  will  lose  them  some 
fine  frosty  day.  You  must  quilt  and  pad,  and  all  sorts  of  things, 
to  keep  alive  and  comfortable.  So  you  haven't  a  hood,  eh?  Do 
you  think  you  and  I  could  make  out  to  choose  one  that  your 
mother  would  think  wasn't  quite  a  fright?  Come  this  way,  and 
let  us  see.  If  she  don't  like  it  she  can  give  it  away,  you  know." 

He  led  the  delighted  Ellen  into  a  milliner's  shop  and  after 
turning  over  a  great  many  different  articles  chose  her  a  nice  warm 
hood,  or  quilted  bonnet.  It  was  of  dark  blue  silk,  well  made  and 
pretty.  He  saw  with  great  satisfaction  that  it  fitted  Ellen  well, 
and  would  protect  her  ears  nicely ;  and  having  paid  for  it  and 
ordered  it  home,  he  and  Ellen  sallied  forth  into  the  street  again. 
But  he  wouldn't  let  her  thank  him.  "  It  is  just  the  very  thing  I 
wanted,  sir,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  mamma  was  speaking  about  it  the  other 
day,  and  she  did  not  see  how  I  was  ever  to  get  one,  because  she 
did  not  feel  at  all  able  to  go  out,  and  I  could  not  get  one  myself; 
I  knowt.she'11  like  it  very  much." 

"  Would  you  rather  have  something  for  yourself  or  your  mother, 
Ellen,  if  you.  could  choose,  and  have  but  one?" 

"  Oh,  for  mamma,  sir,"   said  Ellen — "  a  great  deal !" 

"  Come  in  here,"  said  he  ;  "let  us  see  if  we  can  find  anything 
she  would  like." 

It  was  a  grocery  store.  After  looking  about  a  little,  the  old 
gentleman  ordered  sundry  pounds  of  figs  and  white  grapes  to  be 
packed  up  in  papers ;  and  being  now  very  near  home  he  took  one 
parcel  and  Ellen  the  other  till  they  came  to  the  door  of  Green's 
Hotel,  where  he  committed  both  to  her  care. 

"Won't  you  come  in,  sir?"   said  Ellen. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  can't  this  time — I  must  go  home  to  dinner." 

"And  shan't  I  see  you  any  more,  sir?"  said  Ellen,  a  shade 
coming  over  her  face,  which  a  minute  before  had  been  quite 
joyous. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  he  kindly;  "I  hope  you  will.  You 
shall  hear  from  me  again  at  any  rate  I  promise  you.  We've  spent 
one  pleasant  morning  together,  haven't  we?  Good-by,  good-by." 

Ellen's  hands  were  full,  but  the  old  gentleman  took  them  in 
both  his,  packages  and  all,  and  shook  them  after  a  fashion,  and 
again  bidding  her  good-by,  walked  away  down  the  street. 

The  next  morning  Ellen  and  her  mother  were  sitting  quietly 
together,  and  Ellen  had  not  finished  her  accustomed  reading,  when 
there  came  a  knock  at  the  door.  "  My  old  gentleman  !"  cried 
Ellen,  as  she  sprung  to  open  it.  No — there  was  no  old  gentleman, 
but  a  black  man  with  a  brace  of  beautiful  woodcock  in  his  hand. 
He  bowed  very  civilly,  and  said  he  had  been  ordered  to  leave  the 
birds  with  Miss  Montgomery.  Ellen,  in  surprise,  took  them  from 
him,  and  likewise  a  note  which  he  delivered  into  her  hand.  Ellen 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD 


53 


asked  from  whom  the  birds  came,  but  with  another  polite  bow  the 
man  said  the  note  would  inform  her,  and  went  away.  In  great 
curiosity  she  carried  them  and  the  note  to  her  mother,  to  whom 
the  letter  was  directed.  It  read  thus : — 

"  Will  Mrs.  Montgomery  permit  an  old  man  to  please  himself  in 
his  own  way,  by  showing  his  regard  for  her  little  daughter,  and 
not  feel  that  he  is  taking  a  liberty?  The  birds  are  for  Miss  Ellen." 


"  Oh,  mamma!"  exclaimed  Ellen,  jumping  with  delight,  "did 
you  ever  see  such  a  dear  old  gentleman  ?  Now  I  know  what  he 
meant  yesterday,  when  he  asked  me  if  I  would  rather  have  something 
for  myself  or  for  you.  How  kind  he  is  !  to  do  just  the  very  thing 
for  me  that  he  knows  would  give  me  the  most  pleasure.  Now, 
mamma,  these  birds  are  mine,  you  know,  and  I  give  them  to  you. 
You  must  pay  me  a  kiss  for  them,  mamma ;  they  are  worth  that. 
Aren't  they  beauties  9" 

5* 


54  THE    WIDE,    WIDE  WORLD. 

"  They  are  very  fine  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery  ;  "  This  is 
just  the  season  for  woodcock,  and  these  are  in  beautiful  condition." 

"  Do  you  like  woodcocks,  mamma  ?" 

"  Yes,  very  much." 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  !"  said  Ellen.  "  I'll  ask  Sam  to  have  them 
done  very  nicely  for  you,  and  then  you  will  enjoy  them  so  much." 

The  waiter  was  called,  and  instructed  accordingly,  and  to  him 
the  birds  were  committed,  to  be  delivered  to  the  care  of  the  cook. 

"  Now,  mamma,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  think  these  birds  have  made 
me  happy  for  all  day." 

"  Then  I  hope,  daughter,  they  will  make  you  busy  for  all  day. 
You  have  ruffles  to  hem,  and  the  skirts  of  your  dresses  to  make, 
we  need  not  wait  for  Miss  Rice  to  do  that ;  and  when  she  conies 
you  will  have  to  help  her,  for  I  can  do  little.  You  can't  be  too 
industrious." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  am  as  willing  as  can  be." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  pleasant  two  weeks  to  Ellen ; 
weeks  to  which  she  often  looked  back  afterwards,  so  quietly  and 
swiftly  the  day,0  fled  away  in  busy  occupation  and  sweet  intercourse 
with  her  mother.  The  passions  which  were  apt  enough  to  rise  in 
Ellen's  mind  upon  occasion,  were  for  the  present  kept  effectually 
in  check.  She  could  not  forget  that  her  days  with  her  mother 
would  very  soon  be  at  an  end,  for  a  long  time  at  least ;  and  this 
consciousness,  always  present  to  her  mind,  forbade  even  the  wish 
to  do  any  thing  that  might  grieve  or  disturb  her.  Love  and  ten 
derness  had  absolute  rule  for  the  time,  and  even  had  power  to 
overcome  the  sorrowful  thoughts  that  would  often  rise,  so  that  in 
spite  of  them  peace  reigned.  And  perhaps  both  mother  and 
daughter  enjoyed  this  interval  the  more  keenly  because  they  knew 
that  sorrow  was  at  hand. 

All  this  white  there  was  scarcely  a  day  that  the  old  gentleman's 
servant  did  not  knock  at  their  door,  bearing  a  present  of  game. 
The  second  time  he  came  with  some  fine  larks ;  next  was  a  superb 
grouse ;  then  woodcock  again.  Curiosity  strove  with  astonish 
ment  and  gratitude  in  Ellen's  mind.  "  Mamma,"  she  said,  after 
she  had  admired  the  grouse  for  five  minutes,  "  I  cannot  rest  with 
out  finding  out  who  this  old  gentleman  is." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Montgomery  gravely,  "for 
I  see  no  possible  way  of  your  doing  it." 

"  Why,  mamma,  couldn't  I  ask  the  man  that  brings  the  birds 
what  his  name  is?  He  must  know  it." 

"  Certainly  not ;  it  would  be  very  dishonourable." 

"  Would  it,  mamma  ? — why  ?" 

"  This  old  gentleman  has  not  chosen  to  tell  you  his  name ;  he 
wrote  his  note  without  signing  it,  and  his  man  has  obviously  been 
instructed  not  to  disclose  it ;  don't  you  remember,  he  did  not  tell 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  55 

it  when  you  asked  him,  the  first  time  he  came.  Now  this  shows 
the  old  gentleman  wishes  to  keep  it  secret,  and  to  try  to  find  it  out 
in  any  way  would  be  a  very  unworthy  return  for  his  kindness." 

"  Yes,  it  wouldn't  be  doing  as  I  would  be  done  by,  to  be  sure ; 
but  would  it  be  dishonourable,  mamma  ?" 

"  Very.  It  is  very  dishonourable  to  try  to  find  out  that  about 
other  people  which  does  not  concern  you,  and  which  they  wish  to 
keep  from  you.  Remember  that,  my  dear  daughter." 

"  I  will,  mamma.     I'll  never  do  it,  I  promise  you." 

"  Even  in  talking  with  people,  if  you  discern  in  them  any  un 
willingness  to  speak  upon  a  subject,  avoid  it  immediately,  provided 
of  course  that  some  higher  interest  do  not  oblige  you  to  go  on. 
That  is  true  politeness,  and  true  kindness,  which  are  nearly  the 
same ;  and  not  to  do  so,  I  assure  you,  Ellen,  proves  one  wanting  in 
true  honour." 

"  Well,  mamma,  I  don't  care  what  his  name  is, — at  least  I  won't 
try  to  find  out: — but  it  does  worry  me  that  I  cannot  thank  him. 
I  wish  he  knew  how  much  I  feel  obliged  to  him." 

"  Very  well ;  write  and  tell  him  so." 

"Mamma!"  said  Ellen,  opening  her  eyes  very  wide, — "can  I? 
— would  you  ?" 

"  Certainly, — if  you  like.     It  would  be  very  proper." 

"  Then  I  will !  I  declare  that  is  a  good  notion.  I'll  do  it  the 
first  thing,  and  then  I  can  give  it  to  that  man  if  he  comes  to 
morrow,  as  I  suppose  he  will.  Mamma,"  said  she,  on  opening  her 
desk,  "  how  funny  !  don't  you  remember  you  wondered  who  I  was 

foing  to  write  notes  to  ?  here  is  one  now,  mamma ;  it  is  very  lucky 
have  got  note-paper." 

More  than  one  sheet  of  it  was  ruined  before  Ellen  had  satisfied 
herself  with  what  she  wrote.  It  was  a  full  hour  from  the  time 
she  began  when  she  brought  the  following  note  for  her  mother's 
inspection : — 

"  Ellen  Montgomery  does  not  know  how  to  thank  the  old  gen 
tleman  who  is  so  kind  to  her.  Mamma  enjoys  the  birds  very 
much,  and  I  think  I  do  more  ;  for  I  have  the  double  pleasure  of 
giving  them  to  mamma,  and  of  eating  them  afterwards ;  but  your 
kindness  is  the  best  of  all.  I  can't  tell  you  how  much  I  arn 
obliged  to  you,  sir,  but  I  will  always  love  you  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me. 

"  ELLEN  MONTGOMERY." 

This  note  Mrs.  Montgomery  approved  ;  and  Ellen  having  with 
great  care  and  great  satisfaction  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope,  suc 
ceeded  in  sealing  it  according  to  rule  and  very  well.  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  laughed  when  she  saw  the  direction,  but  let  it  go.  With- 


56  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

out  consulting  her,  Ellen  had  written  on  the  outside,  "  To  the  old 
gentleman."  She  sent  it  the  next  morning  by  the  hands  of  the 
same  servant,  who  this  time  was  the  bearer  of  a  plump  partridge 
"  To  Miss  Montgomery ;"  and  her  mind  was  a  great  deal  easier  on 
this  subject  from  that  time. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Mac.     What  is  the  night  ? 

Lady  Mac.     Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 

MACBETH. 

OCTOBER  was  now  far  advanced.  One  evening,  the  evening  of 
the  last  Sunday  in  the  month,  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  lying  in  the 
parlour  alone.  Ellen  had  gone  to  bed  some  time  before  ;  and  now  in 
the  stillness  of  the  Sabbath  evening  the  ticking  of  the  clock  was 
almost  the  only  sound  to  be  heard.  The  hands  were  rapidly  ap 
proaching  ten.  Captain  Montgomery  was  abroad  ;  and  he  had  been 
so, — according  to  custom, — or  in  bed,  the  whole  day.  The  mother 
and  daughter  had  had  the  Sabbath  to  themselves  ;  and  most  quietly 
and  sweetly  it  had  passed.  They  had  read  together,  prayed  together, 
talked  together  a  great  deal ;  and  the  evening  had  been  spent  in 
singing  hymns  ;  but  Mrs.  Montgomery  s  strength  failed  here,  and 
Ellen  sang  alone.  She  was  not  soon  weary.  Hymn  succeeded 
hymn,  with  fresh  and  varied  pleasure ;  and  her  mother  could  not 
tire  of  listening.  The  sweet  words,  and  the  sweet  airs, — which 
were  all  old  friends,  and  brought  of  themselves  many  a  lesson  of 
wisdom  and  consolation,  by  the  mere  force  of  association, — needed 
not  the  recommendation  of  the  clear  childish  voice  in  which  they 
were  sung  which  was  of  all  things  the  sweetest  to  Mrs.  Montgomery's 
ear.  She  listened, — till  she  almost  felt  as  if  earth  were  left  behind, 
and  she  and  her  child  already  standing  within  the  walls  of  that 
city  where  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  be  no  more,  and  the  tears  shall 
be  wiped  from  all  eyes  for  ever.  Ellen's  next  hymn,  however, 
brought  her  back  to  earth  again,  but  though  her  tears  flowed  freely 
while  she  heard  it,  all  her  causes  of  sorrow  could  not  render  them 
bitter. 

God  in  Israel  sows  the  seeds 

Of  affliction,  pain,  and  toil ; 
These  spring  up  and  choke  the  weeds 

Which  would  else  o'erspread  the  soil. 
Trials  make  the  promise  sweet, — 

Trials  give  new  life  to  prayer, — 
Trials  bring  me  to  his  feet, 

Lay  ine  low,  and  keep  me  there. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  57 

"  It  is  so  indeed,  dear  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery  when  she  had 
finished,  and  holding  the  little  singer  to  her  breast, — "  I  have  always 
found  it  so.  God  is  faithful.  I  have  seen  abundant  cause  to  thank 
him  for  all  the  evils  he  has  made  me  suffer  heretofore,  and  I  do  not 
doubt  it  will  be  the  same  with  this  last  and  worst  one.  Let  us 
glorify  him  in  the  fires,  my  daughter ;  and  if  earthly  joys  be 
stripped  from  us,  and  if  we  be  torn  from  each  other,  let  us  cling 
the  closer  to  him, — he  can  and  he  will  in  that  case  make  up  to  us 
more  than  all  we  have  lost." 

Ellen  felt  her  utter  inability  to  join  in  her  mother's  expressions 
of  confidence  and  hope ;  to  her  there  was  no  brightness  on  the 
cloud  that  hung  over  them, — it  was  all  dark.  She  could  only  press 
her  lips  in  tearful  silence  to  the  one  and  the  other  of  her  mother's 
cheeks  alternately.  How  sweet  the  sense  of  the  coming  parting 
made  every  such  embrace !  This  one,  for  particular  reasons,  was 
often  and  long  remembered.  A  few  minutes  they  remained  thus 
in  each  other's  arms,  cheek  pressed  against  cheek,  without  speaking  ; 
but  then  Mrs.  Montgomery  remembered  that  Ellen's  be'dtime  was 
already  past,  and  dismissed  her. 

For  a  while  after  Mrs.  Montgomery  remained  just  where  Ellen 
had  left  her,  her  busy  thoughts  roaming  over  many  things  in  the 
far  past,  and  the  sad  present,  and  the  uncertain  future.  She  was 
unconscious  of  the  passage  of  time,  and  did  not  notice  how  the 
silence  deepened  as  the  night  drew  on,  till  scarce  a  footfall  was 
heard  in  the  street,  and  the  ticking  of  the  clock  sounded  with  that 
sad  distinctness  which  seems  to  say, — "  Time  is  going  on — time  is 
going  on, — and  you  are  going  with  it, — do  what  you  will  you  can't 
help  that."  It  was  just  upon  the  stroke  of  ten,  and  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  was  still  wrapped  in  her  deep  musings,  when  a  sharp  brisk 
footstep  in  the  distance  aroused  her,  rapidly  approaching ; — and  she 
knew  very  well  whose  it  was,  and  that  it  would  pause  at  the  door, 
before  she  heard  the  quick  run  up  the  steps,  succeeded  by  her 
husband's  tread  upon  the  staircase.  And  yet  she  saw  him  open 
the  door  with  a  kind  of  startled  feeling  which  his  appearance  now 
invariably  caused  her  ;  the  thought  always  darted  through  her  head, 
"perhaps  he  brings  news  of  Ellen's  going."  Something,  it  would 
have  been  impossible  to  say  what,  in  his  appearance  or  man 
ner,  confirmed  this  fear  on  the  present  occasion.  Her  heart  felt 
sick,  and  she  waited  in  silence  to  hear  what  he  would  say.  He 
seemed  very  well  pleased ;  sat  down  before  the  fire  rubbing  his 
hands,  partly  with  cold  and  partly  with  satisfaction ;  and  his 
first  words  were,  "  Well !  we  have  got  a  fine  opportunity  for  her 
at  last." 

How  little  he  was  capable  of  understanding  the  pang  this  an 
nouncement  gave  his  poor  wife !  But  she  only  closed  her  eyes  and 
kept  perfectly  quiet,  and  he  never  suspected  it." 


58  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

He  unbuttoned  his  coat,  and  taking  the  poker  in  his  hand  began 
to  mend  the  fire,  talking  the  while. 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  it  indeed,"  said  he, — "  it's  quite  a  load  off 
my  mind.  Now  we'll  be  gone  directly,  and  high  time  it  is — I'll 
take  passage  in  the  England  the  first  thing  to-morrow.  And  this 
is  the  best  possible  chance  for  Ellen — every  thing  we  could  have 
desired.  I  began  to  feel  very  uneasy  about  it, — it  was  getting  so 
late, — but  I  am  quite  relieved  now." 

"  Who  is  it  ?"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery,  forcing  herself  to  speak. 

"  Why,  it's  Mrs.  Dunscombe,"  said  the  captain,  flourishing  his 
poker  by  way  of  illustration, — "  you  know  her,  don't  you  ? — Cap 
tain  Dunscombe's  wife — she's  going  right  through  Thirl  wall,  and 
will  take  charge  of  Ellen  as  far  as  that,  and  there  my  sister  will 
meet  her  with  a  wagon  and  take  her  straight  home.  Couldn't  be 
any  thing  better.  I  write  to  let  Fortune  know  when  to  expect  her. 
Mrs.  Duncombe  is  a  lady  of  the  first  family  and  fashion — in  the 
highest  degree  respectable ;  she  is  going  on  to  Fort  Jameson,  with 
her  daughter  and  a  servant,  and  her  husband  is  to  follow  her  in  a 
few  days.  I  happened  to  hear  of  it  to-day,  and  I  immediately 
seized  the  opportunity  to  ask  if  she  would  not  take  Ellen  with  her 
as  far  as  Thirlwall,  and  Dunscombe  was  only  too  glad  to  oblige  me. 
I'm  a  very  good  friend  of  his,  and  he  knows  it." 

"  How  soon  does  she  go  ?" 

"  Why — that's  the  only  part  of  the  business  I  am  afraid  you 
won't  like, — but  there  is  no  help  for  it ; — and  after  all  it  is  a  great 
deal  better  so  than  if  you  had  time  to  wear  yourselves  out  with 
mourning — better  and  easier  too,  in  the  end." 

"How  soon?"  repeated  Mrs.  Montgomery,  with  an  agonized 
accent. 

"  Why — I'm  a  little  afraid  of  startling  you — Dunscombe's  wife 
must  go,  he  told  me,  to-morrow  morning ;  and  we  arranged  that 
she  should  call  in  the  carriage  at  six  o'clock  to  take  up  Ellen." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  put  her  hands  to  her  face  and  sank  back 
against  the  sofa. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  take  it  so."  said  her  husband, — "but  I 
don't  think  it  is  worth  while.  It  is  a  great  deal  better  as  it  is, — 
a  great  deal  better  than  if  she  had  a  long  warning.  You  would 
fairly  wear  yourself  out  if  you  had  time  enough  ;  and  you  haven't 
any  strength  to  spare." 

It  was  some  while  before  Mrs.  Montgomery  could  recover  com 
posure  and  firmness  enough  to  go  on  with  what  she  had  to  do, 
though  knowing  the  necessity,  she  strove  hard  for  it.  For  sev 
eral  minutes  she  remained  quite  silent  and  quiet,  endeavouring 
to  collect  her  scattered  forces ;  then  sitting  upright  and  drawing 
her  shawl  around  her  she  exclaimed,  "  I  must  waken  Ellen  imme 
diately  !" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  59 

"  Waken  Ellen  !"  exclaimed  her  husband  in  his  turn, — "  what 
on  earth  for?  That's  the  very  last  thing  to  be  done." 

"  Why  you  would  not  put  off  telling  her  until  to-morrow  morn 
ing?"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery. 

"  Certainly  I  would — that's  the  only  proper  way  to  do.  Why  in 
the  world  should  you  wake  her  up,  just  to  spend  the  whole  night 
in  useless  grieving? — unfitting  her  utterly  for  her  journey,  and 
doing  yourself  more  harm  than  you  can  undo  in  a  week.  No,  no, 
— just  let  her  sleep  quietly,  and  you  go  to  bed  and  do  the  same. 
Wake  her  up,  indeed !  I  thought  you  were  wiser." 

"  But  she  will  be  so  dreadfully  shocked  in  the  morning !" 

''Not  one  bit  more  than  she  would  be  to-night,  and  she  won't 
have  so  much  time  to  feel  it.  In  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  getting 
off  she  will  not  have  time  to  think  about  her  feelings ;  and  once 
on  the  way  she  will  do  well  enough  ; — children  always  do." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  looked  undecided  and  unsatisfied. 

"  I'll  take  the  responsibility  of  this  matter  on  myself, — you 
must  not  waken  her,  absolutely.  It  would  not  do  at  all,"  said  the 
captain,  poking  the  fire  very  energetically, — "it  would  not  do  at 
all, — I  cannot  allow  it." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  silently  arose  and  lit  a  lamp. 

"  You  are  not  going  into  Ellen's  room  ?"  said  the  husband. 
'    "  I  must — I  must  put  her  things  together." 

"  But  you'll  not  disturb  Ellen  ?"  said  he,  in  a  tone  that  required 
a  promise. 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it." 

Twice  Mrs.  Montgomery  stopped  before  she  reached  the  door  of 
Ellen's  room,  for  her  heart  failed  her.  But  she  must  go  on,  and 
the  necessary  preparations  for  the  morrow  must  be  made ; — she 
knew  it ;  and  repeating  this  to  herself  she  gently  turned  the  handle 
of  the  door  and  pushed  it  open,  and  guarding  the  light  with  her 
hand  from  Ellen's  eyes,  she  set  it  where  it  would  not  shine  upon 
her.  Having  done  this,  she  set  herself,  without  once  glancing  at 
her  little  daughter,  to  put  all  things  in  order  for  her  early  departure 
on  the  following  morning.  But  it  was  a  bitter  piece  of  work  for 
her.  She  first  laid  out  all  that  Ellen  would  need  to  wear, — the 
dark  merino,  the  new  nankeen  coat,  the  white  bonnet,  the  clean 
frill  that  her  own  hands  had  done  up,  the  little  gloves  and  shoes, 
and  all  the  etceteras,  with  the  thoughtfulness  and  the  carefulness 
of  love  ;  but  it  went  through  and  through  her  heart  that  it  was  the 
very  last  time  a  mother's  fingers  would  ever  be  busy  in  arranging 
or  preparing  Ellen's  attire;  the  very  last  time  she  would  ever  see 
or  touch  even  the  little  inanimate  things  that  belonged  to  her ;  and 
painful  as  the  task  was  she  was  loth  to  have  it  come  to  an  end.  It 
was  with  a  kind  lingering  unwillingness  to  quit  her  hold  of  them 
that  one  thing  after  another  was  stowed  carefully  and  neatly  away 


60  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

in  the  trunk.  She  felt  it  was  love's  last  act ;  words  might  indeed 
a  few  times  yet  come  over  the  ocean  on  a  sheet  of  paper ; — but 
sight,  and  hearing,  and  touch  must  all  have  done  henceforth  for 
ever.  Keenly  as  Mrs.  Montgomery  felt  this,  she  went  on  busily 
with  her  work  all  the  while ;  and  when  the  last  thing  was  safely 
packed,  shut  the  trunk  and  locked  it  without  allowing  herself  to 
stop  and  think,  and  even  drew  the  straps.  And  then,  having  fin 
ished  all  her  task,  she  went  to  the  bedside ;  she  had  not  looked 
that  way  before. 

\  Ellen  was  lying  in  the  deep  sweet  sleep  of  childhood ;  the  easy 
position,  the  gentle  breathing,  and  the  flush  of  health  upon  the 
cheek  showed  that  all  causes  of  sorrow  were  for  the  present  far 
removed..  Yet  not  so  far  either ; — for  once  when  Mrs.  Montgomery 
stooped  to  kiss  her,  light  as  the  touch  of  that  kiss  had  been  upon 
her  lips,  it  seemed  to  awaken  a  train  of  sorrowful  recollections  in 
the  little  sleeper's  mind.  A  shade  passed  over  her  face,  and  with 
gentle  but  sad  accent  the  word,  "  JVIamma  !"  burst  from  the  parted 
lips.  Only  a  moment, — and  the  shade  passed  away,  and  the  ex 
pression  of  peace  settled  again  upon  her  brow ;  but  Mrs.  Mont 
gomery  dared  not  try  the  experiment  a  second  time.  Long  she 
stood  looking  upon  her,  as  if  she  knew  she  was  looking  her  last ; 
then  she  knelt  by  the  bedside  and  hid  her  face  in  the  coverings, — 
but  no  tears  came  ;  the  struggle  in  her  mind  and  her  anxious  fear 
for  the  morning's  trial,  made  weeping  impossible.  Her  husband 
at  length  came  to  seek  her,  and  it  was  well  he  did ;  she  would  have 
remained  there  on  her  knees  all  night.  He  feared  something  of 
the  kind,  and  came  to  prevent  it.  Mrs.  Montgomery  suffered  her 
self  to  be  led  away  without  making  any  opposition ;  and  went  to 
bed  as  usual,  but  sleep  was  far  from  her.  The  fear  of  Ellen's  dis 
tress  when  she  would  be  awakened  and  suddenly  told  the  truth, 
kept  her  in  an  agony.  In  restless  wakefulness  she  tossed  and 
turned  uneasily  upon  her  bed,  watching  for  the  dawn,  and  dreading 
unspeakably  to  see  it.  The  captain,  in  happy  unconsciousness  of 
his  wife's  distress  and  utter  inability  to  sympathize  with  it,  was 
soon  in  a  sound  sleep,  and  his  heavy  breathing  was  an  aggravation 
of  her  trouble ;  it  kept  repeating,  what  indeed  she  knew  already, 
that  the  only  one  in  the  world  who  ought  to  have  shared  and  soothed 
her  grief  was  not  capable  of  doing  either.  Wearied  with  watching 
and  tossing  to  and  fro,  she  at  length  lost  herself  a  moment  in  un 
easy  slumber,  from  which  she  suddenly  started  in  terror,  and  seiz 
ing  her  husband's  arm  to  arouse  him,  exclaimed,  "  It  is  time  to  wake 
Ellen  !"  but  she  had  to  repeat  her  efforts  two  or  three  times  before 
she  succeeded  in  making  herself  heard. 

"What   is  the  matter?"  said   he  heavily,  and  not  over  well 
pleased  at  the  interruption. 

"  It  is  time  to  wake  Ellen." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  61 

"  No  it  isn't,"  said  he,  relapsing, — "  it  isn't  time  yet  this  great 
while." 

"Oh,  yes  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Montgomery; — "I  am  sure  it  is;  I 
see  the  beginning  of  dawn  in  the  east." 

"Nonsense!  it's  no  such  thing;  it's  the  glimmer  of  the  lamp 
light  ;  what  is  the  use  of  your  exciting  yourself  so  for  nothing. 
It  won't  be  dawn  these  two  hours.  Wait  till  I  find  my  repeater, 
and  I'll  convince  you." 

He  found  and  struck  it. 

"  There  !  I  told  you  so — only  one  quarter  after  four  ;  it  would 
be  absurd  to  wake  her  yet.  Do  go  to  sleep  and  leave  it  to  me ; 
I'll  take  care  it  is  done  in  proper  time." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  sighed  heavily,  and  again  arranged  herself  to 
watch  the  eastern  horizon,  or  rather  with  her  face  in  that  direc 
tion  ;  for  she  could  see  nothing.  But  more  quietly  now  she  lay 
gazing  into  the  darkness  which  it  was  in  vain  to  try  to  penetrate  ; 
and  thoughts  succeeding  thoughts  in  a  more  regular  train,  at  last 
fairly  cheated  her  into  sleep,  much  as  she  wished  to  keep  it  off. 
She  slept  soundly  for  near  an  hour ;  and  when  she  awoke  the  dawn 
had  really  begun  to  break  in  the  eastern  sky.  She  again  aroused 
Captain  Montgomery,  who  this  time  allowed  it  might  be  as  well  to 
get  up;  but  it  was  with  unutterable  impatience  that  she  saw  him 
lighting  a  lamp,  and  moving  about  as  leisurely  as  if  he  had 
nothing  more  to  do  than  to  get  ready  for  breakfast  at  eight 
o'clock. 

"Oh,  do  speak  to  Ellen!"  she  said,  unable  to  control  herself. 
"  Never  mind  brushing  your  hair  till  afterwards.  She  will  have 
no  time  for  any  thing.  Oh,  do  not  wait  any  longer !  what  are  you 
thinking  of?" 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  the  captain; — "  there's 
plenty  of  time.  Do  quiet  yourself — you're  getting  as  nervous  as 
possible.  I'm  going  immediately." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  fairly  groaned  with  impatience  and  an  ago 
nizing  dread  of  what  was  to  follow  the  disclosure  to  Ellen.  But  her 
husband  coolly  went  on  with  his  preparations,  which  indeed  were 
not  long  in  finishing ;  and  then  taking  the  lamp  he  at  last  went. 
He  had  in  truth  delayed  on  purpose,  wishing  the  final  leave-taking 
to  be  as  brief  as  possible ;  and  the  grey  streaks  of  light  in  the 
east  were  plainly  showing  themselves  when  he  opened  the  door  of 
his  little  daughter's  room.  He  found  her  lying  very  much  as  her 
mother  had  left  her, — in  the  same  quiet  sleep,  and  with  the  same 
expression  of  calmness  and  peace  spread  over  her  whole  face  and 
person.  It  touched  even  him, — and  he  was  not  readily  touched 
by  any  thing ; — it  made  him  loth  to  say  the  word  that  would  drive 
all  that  sweet  expression  so  quickly  and  completely  away.  It  must 
be  said,  however;  the  increasing  light  warned  him  he  must  not 

6 


62  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

tarry ;  but  it  was  with  a  hesitating  and  almost  faltering  voice  that 
he  said,  "Ellen!" 

She  stirred  in  her  sleep,  and  the  shadow  came  over  her  face 
again. 

"  Ellen  !  Ellen  !" 

She  started  up,— broad  awake  now ; — and  both  the  shadow  and 
the  peaceful  expression  were  gone  from  her  face.  It  was  a  look 
of  blank  astonishment  at  first  with  which  she  regarded  her  father, 
but  very  soon  indeed  that  changed  into  one  of  blank  despair.  He 
saw  that  she  understood  perfectly  what  he  was  there  for,  and  that 
there  was  no  need  at  all  for  him  to  trouble  himself  with  making 
painful  explanations. 

"  Come,  Ellen,"  he  said, — "that's  a  good  child,  make  haste  and 
dress.  There's  no  time  to  lose  now,  for  the  carriage  will  soon  be 
at  the  door;  and  your  mother  wants  to  see  you,  you  know." 

Ellen  hastily  obeyed  him,  and  began  to  put  on  her  stockings 
and  shoes. 

"  That's  right — now  you'll  be  ready  directly.  You  are  going 
with  Mrs.  Dunscombe — I  have  engaged  her  to  take  charge  of  you 
all  the  way  quite  to  Thirlwall ;  she's  the  wife  of  Captain  Duns- 
combe,  whom  you  saw  here  the  other  day,  you  know ;  and  her 
daughter  is  going  with  her,  so  you  will  have  charming  company. 
I  dare  say  you  will  enjoy  the  journey  very  much  ;  and  your  aunt 
will  meet  you  at  Thirlwall.  Now,  make  haste — I  expect  the  car 
riage  every  minute.  I  meant  to  have  called  you  before,  but  I 
overslept  myself.  Don't  be  long." 

And  nodding  encouragement,  her  father  left  her. 

"How  did  she  bear  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Montgomery  when  he  re 
turned. 

"  Like  a  little  hero.  She  didn't  say  a  word,  or  shed  a  tear.  I 
expected  nothing  but  that  she  would  make  a  great  fuss ;  but  she 
has  all  the  old  spirit  that  you  used  to  have, — and  have  yet,  for 
any  thing  I  know.  She  behaved  admirably." 

Mrs.  Montgomery  sighed  deeply.  She  understood  far  better 
than  her  husband  what  Ellen's  feelings  were,  and  could  interpret 
much  more  truly  than  he  the  signs  of  them  ;  the  conclusions  she 
drew  from  Ellen's  silent  and  tearless  reception  of  the  news  differed 
widely  from  his.  She  now  waited  anxiously  and  almost  fearfully 
for  her  appearance,  which  did  not  come  as  soon  as  she  expected  it. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  Ellen  when  her  father  ended  his  talking, 
and  left  her  to  herself;  for  she  felt  she  could  not  dress  herself  so 
quick  with  him  standing  there  and  looking  at  her,  and  his  desire 
that  she  should  be  speedy  in  what  she  had  to  do  could  not  be  greater 
than  her  own.  Her  fingers  did  their  work  as  fast  as  they  could, 
with  every  joint  trembling.  But  though  a  weight  like  a  mountain 
was  upon  the  poor  child's  heart,  she  could  not  cry ;  and  she  could 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  63 

not  pray, — though  true  to  her  constant  habit  she  fell  on  her  knees 
by  her  bedside  as  she  always  did :  it  was  in  vain ;  all  was  in  a 
whirl  in  her  heart  and  head,  and  after  a  minute  she  rose  again, 
clasping  her  little  hands  together  with  an  expression  of  sorrow 
that  it  was  well  her  mother  could  not  see.  She  was  dressed  very 
soon,  but  she  shrank  from  going  to  her  mother's  room  while  her 
father  was  there.  To  save  time  she  put  on  her  coat,  and  every 
thing  but  her  bonnet  and  gloves  ;  and  then  stood  leaning  against 
the  bed-post,  for  she  could  not  sit  down,  watching  with  most  in 
tense  anxiety  to  hear  her  father's  step  come  out  of  the  room  and 
go  down  stairs.  Every  minute  seemed  too  long  to  be  borne  ;  poor 
Ellen  began  to  feel  as  if  she  could  not  contain  herself.  Yet  five 
had  not  passed  away  when  she  heard  the  roll  of  carriage-wheels 
which  came  to  the  door  and  then  stopped,  and  immediately  her 
father  opening  the  door  to  come  out.  Without  waiting  any  longer 
Ellen  opened  her  own,  and  brushed  past  him  into  the  room  he  had 
quitted.  Mrs.  Montgomery  was  still  lying  on  the  bed,  for  her  hus 
band  had  insisted  on  her  not  rising.  She  said  not  a  word,  but 
opened  her  arms  to  receive  her  little  daughter ;  and  with  a  cry  of 
indescribable  expression  Ellen  sprang  upon  the  bed,  and  was  folded 
in  them.  But  then  neither  of  them  spoke  or  wept.  What  could 
words  say?  Heart  met  heart  in  that  agony,  for  each  knew  all  that 
was  in  the  other.  No, — not  quite  all.  Ellen  did  not  know  that 
the  whole  of  bitterness  death  had  for  her  mother  she  was  tasting 
then.  But  it  was  true.  Death  had  no  more  power  to  give  her 
pain  after  this  parting  should  be  over.  His  after- work, — the  part 
ing  between  soul  and  body, — would  be  welcome  rather ;  yes,  very 
welcome.  Mrs.  Montgomery  knew  it  all  well.  She  knew  this  was 
the  last  embrace  between  them.  She  knew  it  was  the  very  last 
time  that  dear  little  form  would  ever  lie  on  her  bosom,  or  be  pressed 
in  her  arms ;  and  it  almost  seemed  to  her  that  soul  and  body  must 
part  company  too  when  they  should  be  rent  asunder.  Ellen's 
grief  was  not  like  this ; — she  did  not  think  it  was  the  last  time ; — 
but  she  was  a  child  of  very  high  spirit  and  violent  passions,  un 
tamed  at  all  by  sorrow's  discipline  ;  and  in  proportion  violent  was 
the  tempest  excited  by  this  first  real  trial.  Perhaps,  too,  her  sor 
row  was  sharpened  by  a  sense  of  wrong  and  a  feeling  of  indigna 
tion  at  her  father's  cruelty  in  not  waking  her  earlier. 

Not  many  minutes  had  passed  in  this  sad  embrace,  and  no  word 
had  yet  been  spoken,  no  sound  uttered,  except  Ellen's  first  inarticu 
late  cry  of  mixed  affection  and  despair,  when  Captain  Montgomery's 
step  was  again  heard  slowly  ascending  the  stairs.  "  He  is  coming 
to  take  me  away!"  thought  Ellen;  and  in  terror  lest  she  should 
go  without  a  word  from  her  mother,  she  burst  forth  with,  "  Mamma  ! 
speak  !" 

A  moment  before,  and  Mrs.  Montgomery  could  not  have  spoken. 


64  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

But  she  could  now ;  and  as  clearly  and  calmly  the  words  were 
uttered  as  if  nothing  had  been  the  matter,  only  her  voice  fell  a 
little  toward  the  last. 

"  God  bless  my  darling  child  !  and  make  her  his  own, — and  bring 
her  to  that  home  where  parting  cannot  be." 

Ellen's  eyes  had  been  dry  until  now;  but  when  she  heard  the 
sweet  sound  of  her  mother's  voice,  it  opened  all  the  fountains  of 
tenderness  within  her.  She  burst  into  uncontrollable  weeping ;  it 
seemed  as  if  she  would  pour  out  her  very  heart  in  tears ;  and  she 
clung  to  her  mother  with  a  force  that  made  it  a  difficult  task  for 
her  father  to  remove  her.  He  could  not  do  it  at  first ;  and  Ellen 
seemed  not  to  hear  any  thing  that  was  said  to  her.  He  was  very 
unwilling  to  use  harshness ;  and  after  a  little,  though  she  had  paid 
no  attention  to  his  entreaties  or  commands,  yet  sensible  of  the  ne 
cessity  of  the  case,  she  gradually  relaxed  her  hold  and  suffered  him 
to  draw  her  away  from  her  mother's  arms.  He  carried  her  down 
stairs,  and  put  her  on  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage,  beside  Mrs. 
Dunscombe's  maid, — but  Ellen  could  never  recollect  how  she  got 
there,  and  she  did  not  feel  the  touch  of  her  father's  hand,  nor  hear 
him  when  he  bid  her  good-by ;  and  she  did  not  know  that  he  put 
a  large  paper  of  candies  and  sugar-plums  in  her  lap.  She  knew 
nothing  but  that  she  had  lost  her  mother. 

"  It  will  not  be  so  long,"  said  the  captain,  in  a  kind  of  apolo 
gizing  way ;  "  she  will  soon  get  over  it,  and  you  will  not  have  any 
trouble  with  her." 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  the  lady,  rather  shortly  ;  and  then,  as  the 
captain  was  making  his  parting  bow,  she  added,  in  no  very  pleased 
tone  of  voice,  "  Pray,  Captain  Montgomery,  is  this  young  lady  to 
travel  without  a  bonnet?" 

"Bless  me!  no,"  said  the  captain.  "  How  is  this?  hasn't  she 
a  bonnet?  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  ma'am, — I'll  bring  it  on  the 
instant." 

After  a  little  delay,  the  bonnet  was  found,  but  the  captain  over 
looked  the  gloves  in  his  hurry. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  have  been  delayed,  ma'am,"    said  he. 

"  I  hope  we  may  be  able  to  reach  the  boat  yet,"  replied  the  lady. 
"  Drive  on  as  fast  as  you  can  !" 

A  very  polite  bow  from  Captain  Montgomery — a  very  slight  one 
from  the  lady — and  off  they  drove. 

"  Proud  enough,"  thought  the  captain,  as  he  went  up  the  stairs 
again.  "  I  reckon  she  don't  thank  me  for  her  travelling  companion. 
But  Ellen's  off — that's  one  good  thing: — and  now  I'll  go  and 
engage  berths  in  the  England." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD,  65 


CHAPTER   VII. 

"  So  fair  and  foul  a  day  I  have  not  seen." 

MACBETH. 

THE  long  drive  to  the  boat  was  only  a  sorrowful  blank  to  Ellen's 
recollection.  She  did  not  see  the  frowns  that  passed  between  her 
companions  on  her  account.  She  did  not  know  that  her  white 
bonnet  was  such  a  matter  of  merriment  to  Margaret  Dunscombe 
and  the  maid,  that  they  could  hardly  contain  themselves.  She  did 
not  find  out  that  Miss  Margaret' s  fingers  were  busy  with  her  paper 
of  sweets,  which  only  a  good  string  and  a  sound  knot  kept  her 
from  rifling.  Yet  she  felt  very  well  that  nobody  there  cared  in 
the  least  for  her  sorrow.  It  mattered  nothing  ;  she  wept  on  in  her 
loneliness,  and  knew  nothing  that  happened,  till  the  carriage  stopped 
on  the  wharf;  even  then  she  did  not  raise  her  head.  Mrs.  Duns- 
combe  got  out,  and  saw  her  daughter  and  servant  do  the  same  ;  then 
after  giving  some  orders  about  the  baggage,  she  returned  to  Ellen. 

"  Will  you  get  out,  Miss  Montgomery  ?  or  would  you  prefer  to 
remain  in  the  carriage  ?  We  must  go  on  board  directly." 

There  was  something,  not  in  the  words,  but  in  the  tone,  that 
struck  Ellen's  heart  with  an  entirely  new  feeling.  Her  tears 
stopped  instantly,  and  wiping  away  quick  the  traces  of  them  as 
well  as  she  could,  she  got  out  of  the  carriage  without  a  word,  aided 
by  Mrs.  Dunscombe's  hand.  The  party  was  presently  joined  by  a 
fine-looking  man,  whom  Ellen  recognised  as  Captain  Dunscombe. 

"  Dunscombe,  do  put  these  girls  on  board,  will  you  ?  and  then 
come  back  to  me  ;  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Timmins,  JQM  may  go 
along  and  look  after  them." 

Captain  Dunscombe  obeyed.  When  they  reached  the  deck, 
Margaret  Dunscombe  and  the  maid  Timmins  went  straight  to  the 
cabin.  Not  feeling  at  all  drawn  toward  their  company,  as  indeed 
they  had  given  her  no  reason,  Ellen  planted  herself  by  the  guards 
of  the  boat,  not  far  from  the  gangway,  to  watch  the  busy  scene 
that  at  another  time  would  have  had  a  great  deal  of  interest  and 
amusement  for  her.  And  interest  it  had  now;  but  it  was  with  a 
very,  very  grave  little  face  that  she  looked  on  the  bustling  crowd. 
The  weight  on  her  heart  was  just  as  great  as  ever,  but  she  felt  this 
was  not  the  time  or  the  place  to  let  it  be  seen  ;  so  for  the  present 
she  occupied  herself  with  what  was  passing  before  her,  though  it 
did  not  for  one  moment  make  her  forget  her  sorrow. 

At  last  the  boat  rang  her  last  bell.  Captain  Dunscombe  put  his 
wife  on  board,  and  had  barely  time  to  jump  off  the  boat  again  when 
the  plank  was  withdrawn.  The  men  on  shore  cast  off  the  great 
e  6* 


66  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

loops  of  ropes  that  held  the  boat  to  enormous  wooden  posts  on  the 
wharf,  and  they  were  off! 

At  first  it  seemed  to  Ellen  as  if  the  wharf  and  the  people  upon 
it  were  sailing  away  from  them  backwards ;  but  she  presently  for 
got  to  think  of  them  at  all.  She  was  gone  ! — she  felt  the  bitter 
ness  of  the  whole  truth ; — the  blue  water  already  lay  between  her 
and  the  shore,  where  she  so  much  longed  to  be.  In  that  confused 
mass  of  buildings  at  which  she  was  gazing,  but  which  would  be  so 
soon  beyond  even  gazing  distance,  was  the  only  spot  she  cared  for 
in  the  world  ;  her  heart  was  there.  She  could  not  see  the  place,  to 
be  sure,  nor  tell  exactly  whereabouts  it  lay  in  all  that  wide-spread 
city  ;  but  it  was  there,  somewhere, — and  every  minute  was  making 
it  farther  and  farther  off.  It's  a  bitter  thing,  that  sailing  away 
from  all  one  loves ;  and  poor  Ellen  felt  it  so.  She  stood  leaning 
both  her  arms  upon  the  rail,  the  tears  running  down  her  cheeks, 
and  blinding  her  so  that  she  could  not  see  the  place  toward  which 
her  straining  eyes  were  bent.  Somebody  touched  her  sleeve, — it 
was  Timmins. 

"  Mrs.  Dunscombe  sent  me  to  tell  you  she  wants  you  to  come 
into  the  cabin,  miss." 

Hastily  wiping  her  eyes,  Ellen  obeyed  the  summons,  and  followed 
Timmins  into  the  cabin.  It  was  full  of  groups  of  ladies,  children, 
and  nurses, — bustling  and  noisy  enough.  Ellen  wished  she  might 
have  stayed  outside ;  she  wanted  to  be  by  herself;  but  as  the  next 
best  thing,  she  mounted  upon  the  bench  which  ran  all  round  the 
saloon,  and  kneeling  on  the  cushion  by  one  of  the  windows,  placed 
herself  with  the  edge  of  her  bonnet  just  touching  the  glass,  so  that 
nobody  could  see  a  bit  of  her  face,  while  she -could  look  out  near 
by  as  well  as  from  the  deck.  Presently  her  ear  caught,  as  she 
thought,  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Dunscombe,  saying  in  rather  an  under 
tone,  but  laughing  too,  "  What  a  figure  she  does  cut  in  that  out 
landish  bonnet !" 

Ellen  had  no  particular  reason  to  think  she  was  meant,  and  yet 
she  did  think  so.  She  remained  quite  still,  but  with  raised  colour 
and  quickened  breathing  waited  to  hear  what  would  come  next. 
Nothing  came  at  first,  and  she  was  beginning  to  think  she  had  per 
haps  been  mistaken,  when  she  plainly  heard  Margaret  Dunscombe 
say,  in  a  loud  whisper,  "  Mamma,  I  wish  you  could  contrive  some 
way  to  keep  her  in  the  cabin — can't  you?  she  looks  so  odd  in  that 
queer  sun-bonnet  kind  of  a  thing,  that  any  body  would  think  she 
had  come  out  of  the  woods,  and  no  gloves  too ;  I  shouldn't  like  to 
have  the  Miss  M' Arthurs  think  she  belonged  to  us — can't  you, 
mamma  ?" 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  at  Ellen's  feet,  the  shock  would 
hardly  have  been  greater.  The  lightning  of  passion  shot  through 
every  vein.  And  it  was  not  passion  only  ;  there  was  hurt  feeling 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  67 

and  wounded  pride,  and  the  sorrow  of  which  her  heart  was  full 
enough  before,  now  wakened  afresh.  The  child  was  beside  herself. 
One  wild  wish  for  a  hiding-place  was  the  most  pressing  thought, — 
to  be  where  tears  could  burst  and  her  heart  could  break  unseen. 
She  slid  off  her  bench  and  rushed  through  the  crowd  to  the  red 
curtain  that  cut  off  the  far  end  of  the  saloon  ;  and  from  there  down 
to  the  cabin  below, — people  were  everywhere.  At  last  she  spied  a 
nook  where  she  could  be  completely  hidden.  It  was  in  the  far-back 
end  of  the  boat,  just  under  the  stairs  by  which  she  had  come  down. 
Nobody  was  sitting  on  the  three  or  four  large  mahogany  steps  that 
ran  round  that  end  of  the  cabin  and  sloped  up  to  the  little  cabin 
window  ;  and  creeping  beneath  the  stairs,  and  seating  herself  on  the 
lowest  of  these  steps,  the  poor  child  found  that  she  was  quite  screened 
and  out  of  sight  of  every  human  creature.  It  was  time  indeed ;  her 
heart  had  been  almost  bursting  with  passion  and  pain,  and  now  the 
pent-up  tempest  broke  forth  with  a  fury  that  racked  her  little  frame 
from  head  to  foot ;  and  the  more  because  she  strove  to  stifle  every 
sound  of  it  as  much  as  possible.  It  was  the  very  bitterness  of  sorrow, 
without  any  softening  thought  to  allay  it,  and  sharpened  and  made 
more  bitter  by  mortification  and  a  passionate  sense  of  unkindness  and 
wrong.  And  through  it  all,  how  constantly  in  her  heart  the  poor 
child  was  reaching  forth  longing  arms  toward  her  far-off  mother, 
and  calling  in  secret  on  her  beloved  name.  u  Oh,  mamma  !  mammal" 
was  repeated  numberless  times,  with  the  unspeakable  bitterness  of 
knowing  that  she  would  have  been  a  sure  refuge  and  protection 
from  all  this  trouble,  but  was  now  where  she  could  neither  reach 
nor  hear  her.  Alas  !  how  soon  and  how  sadly  missed. 

Ellen's  distress  was  not  soon  quieted,  or,  if  quieted  for  a  moment, 
it  was  only  to  break  out  afresh.  And  then  she  was  glad  to  sit  still 
and  rest  herself. 

Presently  she  heard  the  voice  of  the  chambermaid  up  stairs,  at 
a  distance  at  first,  and  coming  nearer  and  nearer.  "  Breakfast  ready, 
ladies — -Ladies,  breakfast  ready  !"  and  then  came  all  the  people  in  a 
rush,  pouring  down  the  stairs  over  Ellen's  head.  She  kept  quite 
still  and  close,  for  she  did  not  want  to  see  any  body,  and  could  not 
bear  that  any  body  should  see  her.  Nobody  did  see  her ;  they  all 
went  off  into  the  next  cabin,  where  breakfast  was  set.  Ellen  began 
to  grow  tired  of  her  hiding-place  and  to  feel  restless  in  her  confine 
ment  ;  she  thought  this  would  be  a  good  time  to  get  away ;  so  she 
crept  from  her  station  under  the  stairs  and  mounted  them  as  quick 
and  as  quietly  as  she  could.  She  found  almost  nobody  left  in  the 
saloon, — and  breathing  more  freely,  she  possessed  herself  of  her 
despised  bonnet,  which  she  had  torn  off  her  head  in  the  first  burst 
of  her  indignation,  and  passing  gently  out  at  the  door,  went  up  the 
stairs  which  led  to  the  promenade  deck ; — she  felt  as  if  she  could 
not  get  far  enough  from  Mrs.  Dunscombe. 


68  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

The  promenade  deck  was  very  pleasant  in  the  bright  morning 
sun  ;  and  nouody  was  there  except  a  few  gentlemen.  Ellen  sat 
down  on  one  of  the  settees  that  were  ranged  along  the  middle  of 
it,  and,  much  pleased  at  having  found  herself  such  a  nice  place  of 
retreat,  she  once  more  took  up  her  interrupted  amusement  of  watch 
ing  the  banks  of  the  river. 

It  was  a  fair,  mild  day,  near  the  end  of  October^and  one  of  the 
loveliest  of  that  lovely  month.  Poor  Ellen,  however,  could  not 
fairly  enjoy  it  just  now.  There  was  enough  darkness  in  her  heart 
to  put  a  veil  over  all  nature's  brightness.  The  thought  did  pass 
through  her  mind  when  she  first  went  up,  how  very  fair  every  thing 
was  ; — but  she  soon  forgot  to  think  about  it  at  all.  They  were  now 
in  a  wide  part  of  the  river ;  and  the  shore  toward  which  she  was 
looking  was  low  and  distant,  and  offered  nothing  to  interest  her. 
She  ceased  to  look  at  it,  and  presently  lost  all  sense  of  every  thing 
around  and  before  her,  for  her  thoughts  went  home.  She  remem 
bered  that  sweet  moment  last  night  when  she  lay  in  her  mother's 
arms,  after  she  had  stopped  singing,  could  it  be  only  last  night  ?  it 
seemed  a  long,  long  time  ago.  She  went  over  again  in  imagination 
her  shocked  waking  up  that  very  morning, — how  cruel  that  was ! — her 
hurried  dressing, — the  miserable  parting, — and  those  last  words  of 
her  mother,  that  seernod  to  ring  in  her  ears  yet.  "  That  home 
where  parting  cannot  be."  "  Oh,"  thought  Ellen,  "  how  shall  I 
ever  get  there  ?  who  is  there  to  teach  me  now  ?  Oh,  what  shall  I 
do  without  you?  Oh,  mamma  !  how  much  I  want  you  already  !" 

While  poor  Ellen  was  thinking  these  things  over  and  over,  her 
little  face  had  a  deep  sadness  of  expression  it  was  sorrowful  to  see. 
She  was  perfectly  calm ;  her  violent  excitement  had  all  left  her ; 
her  lip  quivered  a  very  little  sometimes,  but  that  was  all ;  and  one 
or  two  tears  rolled  slowly  down  the  side  of  her  face.  Her  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  dancing  water,  but  it  was  very  plain  her 
thoughts  were  not,  nor  on  any  thing  else  before  her ;  and  there 
was  a  forlorn  look  of  hopeless  sorrow  on  her  lip  and  cheek  and 
brow,  enough  to  move  any  body  whose  heart  was  not  very  hard. 
She  was  noticed,  and  with  a  feeling  of  compassion,  by  several  peo 
ple  ;  but  they  all  thought  it  was  none  of  their  business  to  speak  to 
her,  or  they  didn't  know  how.  At  length,  a  gentleman  who  had 
been  for  some  time  walking  up  and  down  the  deck,  happened  to 
look,  as  he  passed,  at  her  little  pale  face.  He  went  to  the  end  of 
his  walk  that  time,  but  in  coming  back  he  stopped  just  in  front  of 
her,  and  bending  down  his  face  toward  hers,  said,  "  What  is  the 
matter  with  you,  my  little  friend  ?" 

Though  his  figure  had  passed  before  her  a  great  many  times 
Ellen  had  not  seen  him  at  all ;  for  "  her  eyes  were  with  her  heart, 
and  that  was  far  away."  Her  cheek  flushed  with  surprise  as  she 
looked  up.  But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  look  of  kindness  in 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  69 

the  eyes  that  met  hers,  nor  the  gentleness  and  grave  truthfulness 
of  the  whole  countenance.  It  won  her  confidence  immediately. 
All  the  floodgates  of  Ellen's  heart  were  at  once  opened.  She 
could  not  speak,  but  rising  and  clasping  the  hand  that  was  held 
out  to  her  in  both  her  own,  she  bent  down  her  head  upon  it,  and 
burst  into  one  of  those  uncontrollable  agonies  of  weeping,  such  as 
the  news  of  her  mother's  intended  departure  had  occasioned  that 
first  sorrowful  evening.  He  gently,  and  as  soon  as  he  could,  drew 
her  to  a  retired  part  of  the  deck  where  they  were  comparatively 
free  from  other  people's  eyes  and  ears ;  then  taking  her  in  his 
arms  he  endeavoured  by  many  kind  and  soothing  words  to  stay  the 
torrent  of  her  grief.  This  fit  of  weeping  did  Ellen  more  good 
than  the  former  one  ;  that  only  exhausted,  this  in  some  little 
measure  relieved  her. 

"  What  is  all  this  about?"  said  her  friend  kindly.  "  Nay,  never 
mind  shedding  any  more  tears  about  it,  my  child.  Let  me  hear 
what  it  is;  and  perhaps  we  can  find  some  help  for  it." 

11  Oh,  no  you  can't,  sir,"  said  Ellen  sadly. 

"Well,  let  us  see,"  said  he, — "perhaps  I  can.  What  is  it  that 
has  troubled  you  so  much?" 

"  I  have  lost  my  mother,  sir,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Your  mother  !     Lost  her  ! — how  ?" 

"  She  is  very  ill,  sir,  and  obliged  to  go  away  over  the  sea  to 
France  to  get  well;  and  papa  could  not  take  me  with  her,"  said 
poor  Ellen,  weeping  again,  "  and  I  am  obliged  to  go  to  be  among 
strangers.  Oh,  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  Have  you  left  your  mother  in  the  city?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !     I  left  her  this  morning." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Ellen  Montgomery." 

"  Is  your  mother  obliged  to  go  to  Europe  for  her  health  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  ;  nothing  else  would  have  made  her  go,  but  the 
doctor  said  she  would  not  live  long  if  she  didn't  go,  and  that  would 
cure  her." 

"  Then  you  hope  to  see  her  come  back  by  and  by,  don't  you?" 

11  Oh,  yes,  sir ;  but  it  won't  be  this  great,  great,  long  while ;  it 
seems  to  me  as  if  it  was  for  ever." 

"  Ellen,  do  you  know  who  it  is  that  sends  sickness  and  trouble 
upon  us?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know;  but  I  don't  feel  that  that  makes  it  any 
easier." 

"  Do  you  know  why  he  sends  it  ?  He  is  the  God  of  love, — he 
does  not  trouble  us  willingly, — he  has  said  so ; — why  does  he  ever 
make  us  suffer?  do  you  know?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Sometimes  he  sees  that  if  he  lets  them  alone,  his  children  will 


70  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

love  some  dear  thing  on  the  earth  better  than  himself,  and  he 
knows  they  will  not  be  happy  if  they  do  so ;  and  then,  because  he 
loves  them,  he  takes  it  away, — perhaps  it  is  a  dear  mother,  or  a 
dear  daughter, — or  else  he  hinders  their  enjoyment  of  it;  that 
they  may  remember  him,  and  give  their  whole  hearts  to  him.  He 
wants  their  whole  hearts,  that  he  may  bless  them.  Are  you  one 
of  his  children,  Ellen  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  with  swimming  eyes,  but  cast  down  to 
the  ground. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  you  are  not?" 

"  Because  I  do  not  love  the  Saviour." 

"Do  you  not  love  him,  Ellen?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  sir." 

"  Why  are  you  afraid  not  ?  what  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Mamma  said  I  could  not  love  him  at  all  if  I  did  not  love  him 
best;  and  oh,  sir,"  said  Ellen  weeping,  "  I  do  love  mamma  a  great 
deal  better." 

"  You  love  your  mother  better  than  you  do  the  Saviour?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  Ellen ;   "  how  can  I  help  it?" 

"  Then  if  he  had  left  you  your  mother,  Ellen,  you  would  never 
have  cared  or  thought  about  him  ?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  Is  it  so  ? — would  you,  do  you  think  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  weeping  again, — "oh,  sir,  how 
can  I  help  it?" 

"  Then  Ellen,  can  you  not  see  the  love  of  your  Heavenly  Father 
in  this  trial  ?  He  saw  that  his  little  child  was  in  danger  of  forget 
ting  him,  and  he  loved  you,  Ellen ;  and  so  he  has  taken  your  dear 
mother,  and  sent  you  away  where  you  will  have  no  one  to  look  to 
but  him  ;  and  now  he  says  to  you,  '  My  daughter,  give  me  thy 
heart.' — Will  you  do  it,  Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  wept  exceedingly  while  the  gentleman  was  saying  these 
words,  clasping  his  hands  still  in  both  hers ;  but  she  made  no  an 
swer.  He  waited  till  she  had  become  calmer,  and  then  went  on  in 
a  low  tone, — 

"  What  is  the  reason  that  you  do  not  love  the  Saviour,  my 
child?" 

"  Mamma  says  it  is  because  my  heart  is  so  hard." 

"  That  is  true ;  but  you  do  not  know  how  good  and  how  lovely 
he  is,  or  you  could  not  help  loving  him.  Do  you  often  think  of 
him,  and  think  much  of  him,  and  ask  him  to  show  you  himself 
that  you  may  love  him  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,—"  not  often." 

"  You  pray  to  him,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  not  so." 

"  But  you  ought  to  pray  to  him  so.    We  are  all  blind  by  nature, 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  71 

Ellen  ; — we  are  all  hard-hearted ;  none  of  us  can  see  him  or  love 
him  unless  he  opens  our  eyes  and  touches  our  hearts ;  but  he  has 
promised  to  do  this  for  those  that  seek  him.  Do  you  remember 
what  the  blind  man  said  when  Jesus  asked  him  what  he  should  do 
for  him  ? — he  answered,  c  Lord,  that  I  may  receive  my  sight !' 
That  ought  to  be  your  prayer  now,  and  mine  too ;  and  the  Lord  is 
just  as  ready  to  hear  us  as  he  was  to  hear  the  poor  blind  man ;  and 
you  know  he  cured  him.  Will  you  ask  him,  Ellen?" 

A  smile  was  almost  struggling  through  Ellen' s  tears  as  she  lifted 
her  face  to  that  of  her  friend,  but  she  instantly  looked  down  again. 

"  Shall  I  put  you  in  mind,  Ellen,  of  some  things  about  Christ 
that  ought  to  make  you  love  him  with  all  your  heart  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir  !  if  you  please." 

"  Then  tell  me  first  what  it  is  that  makes  you  love  your  mother 
so  much  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you,  sir ; — every  thing,  I  think." 

"  I  suppose  the  great  thing  is  that  she  loves  you  so  much?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  Ellen  strongly. 

"  But  how  do  you  know  that  she  loves  you  ?  how  has  she  shown 
it?" 

Ellen  looked  at  him,  but  could  give  no  answer ;  it  seemed  to  her 
that  she  must  bring  the  whole  experience  of  her  life  before  him  to 
form  one. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  her  friend,  "  that,  to  begin  with  the  smallest 
thing,  she  has  always  been  watchfully  careful  to  provide  every 
thing  that  could  be  useful  or  necessary  for  you : — she  never  forgot 
your  wants,  or  was  careless  about  them  ?' ' 

"  No  indeed,  sir." 

"  And  perhaps  you  recollect  that  she  never  minded  trouble  or 
expense  or  pain  where  your  good  was  concerned ; — she  would  sacri 
fice  her  own  pleasure  at  any  time  for  yours?" 

Ellen's  eyes  gave  a  quick  and  strong  answer  to  this,  but  she  said 
nothing. 

"  And  in  all  your  griefs  and  pleasures  you  were  sure  of  finding 
her  ready  and  willing  to  feel  with  you  and  for  you,  and  to  help  you 
if  she  could  ?  And  in  all  the  times  you  have  seen  her  tried,  no 
fatigue  ever  wore  out  her  patience,  nor  any  naughtiness  of  yours 
ever  lessened  her  love ;  she  could  not  be  weary  of  waiting  upon 
you  when  you  were  sick,  nor  of  bearing  with  you  when  you  forgot 
your  duty, — more  ready  always  to  receive  you  than  you  to  return. 
Isn't  it  so?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"  And  you  can  recollect  a  great  many  words  and  looks  of  kind 
ness  and  love — many  and  many  endeavours  to  teach  you  and  lead 
you  in  the  right  way — all  showing  the  strongest  desire  for  your 
happiness  in  this  world,  and  in  the  next?" 


72  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir/'  said  Ellen  tearfully  ;  and  then  added,  "  do  you 
know  my  mother,  sir  ?' ' 

"  No,"  said  he,  smiling,  "  not  at  all ;  but  my  own  mother  has 
been  in  many  things  like  this  to  me,  and  I  judged  yours  might 
have  been  such  to  you.  Have  I  described  her  right  ?' ' 

"  Yes  indeed,  sir,"  said  Ellen  ;— "  exactly." 

"  And  in  return  for  all  this,  you  have  given  this  dear  mother  the 
love  and  gratitude  of  your  whole  heart,  haven't  you?" 

"  Indeed  I  have,  sir;"  and  Ellen's  face  said  it  more  than  her 
words. 

"  You  are  very  right,"  he  said  gravely,  "to  love  such  a  mother 
— to  give  her  all  possible  duty  and  affection ; — she  deserves  it. 
But,  Ellen,  in  all  these  very  things  I  have  been  mentioning,  Jesus 
Christ  has  shown  that  he  deserves  it  far  more.  Do  you  think,  if 
you  had  never  behaved  like  a  child  to  your  mother — if  you  had 
never  made  her  the  least  return  of  love  or  regard — that  she  would 
have  continued  to  love  you  as  she  does?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  do  not  think  she  would." 

"  Have  you  ever  made  any  fit  return  to  God  for  his  goodness  to 
you?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  And  yet  there  has  been  no  change  in  his  kindness.  Just  look 
at  it,  and  see  what  he  has  done  and  is  doing  for  you.  In  the  first 
place,  it  is  not  your  mother,  but  he,  who  has  given  you  every  good 
and  pleasant  thing  you  have  enjoyed  in  your  whole  life.  You  love 
your  mother  because  she  is  so  careful  to  provide  for  all  your  wants  ; 
but  who  gave  her  the  materials  to  work  with  ?  she  has  only  been, 
as  it  were,  the  hand  by  which  he  supplied  you.  And  who  gave 
you  such  a  mother  ? — there  are  many  mothers  not  like  her ; — who  put 
into  her  heart  the  truth  and  love  that  have  been  blessing  you  ever 
since  you  were  born?  It  is  all — all  God's  doing,  from  first  to  last; 
but  his  child  has  forgotten  him  in  the  very  gifts  of  his  mercy." 

Ellen  was  silent,  but  looked  very  grave. 

"  Your  mother  never  minded  her  own  ease  or  pleasure  when 
your  good  was  concerned.  Did  Christ  mind  his  ?  You  know  what 
he  did  to  save  sinners,  don't  you?" 

11  Yes,  sir,  I  know  ;  mamma  often  told  me." 

"  '  Though  he  was  rich,  yet  for  our  sake  he  became  poor,  that  we 
through  his  poverty  might  be  rich.'  He  took  your  burden  of  sin 
upon  himself,  and  suffered  that  terrible  punishment — all  to  save 
you,  and  such  as  you.  And  now  he  asks  his  children  to  leave  off 
sinning  and  come  back  to  him  who  has  bought  them  with  his  own 
blood.  He  did  this  because  he  loved  you;  does  he  not  deserve 
to  be  loved  in  return  ?" 

Ellen  had  nothing  to  say  ;  she  hung  down  her  head  further  and 
further. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  73 

"And  patient  and  kind  as  your  mother  is,  the  Lord  Jesus  is 
kinder  and  more  patient  still.  In  all  your  life  so  far,  Ellen,  you 
have  not  loved  or  obeyed  him  ;  and  yet  he  loves  you,  and  is  ready 
to  be  your  friend.  Is  he  not  even  to-day  taking  away  your  dear 
mother  for  the  very  purpose  that  he  may  draw  you  gently  to 
himself  and  fold  you  in  his  arms,  as  he  has  promised  to  do 
with  his  lambs?  He  knows  you  can  never  be  happy  anywhere 
else." 

The  gentleman  paused  again,  for  he  saw  that  the  little  listener's 
mind  was  full. 

"  Has  not  Christ  shown  that  he  loves  you  better  even  than  your 
mother  does  ?  And  were  there  ever  sweeter  words  of  kindness 
than  these  ? — 

" '  Suffer  the  little  children  to  come  unto  me.  and  forbid  them 
not ;  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.' 

" '  I  am  the  good  shepherd  j  the  good  shepherd  giveth  his  life 
for  the  sheep.' 

" '  I  have  loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love ;  therefore  with 
loving  kindness  have  I  drawn  thee.'  " 

He  waited  a  minute,  and  then  added,  gently,  "  Will  you  come 
to  him,  Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  lifted  her  tearful  eyes  to  his ;  but  there  were  tears  there 
too,  and  her  own  sank  instantly.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  and  sobbed  out  in  broken  words,  "Oh,  if  I  could — but  I 
don't  know  how." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  his  child,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir — if  I  could." 

"  I  know,  my  child,  that  sinful  heart  of  yours  is  in  the  way, 
but  the  Lord  Jesus  can  change  it,  and  will,  if  you  will  give  it  to 
him.  He  is  looking  upon  you  now,  Ellen,  with  more  kindness  and 
love  than  any  earthly  father  or  mother  could,  waiting  for  you  to 
give  that  little  heart  of  yours  to  him,  that  he  may  make  it  holy 
and  fill  it  with  blessing.  He  says,  you  know,  '  Behold  I  stand  at 
the  door  and  knock.'  Do  not  grieve  him  away,  Ellen." 

Ellen  sobbed,  but  all  the  passion  and  bitterness  of  her  tears  was 
gone.  Her  heart  was  completely  melted. 

"  If  your  mother  were  here,  and  could  do  for  you  what  you  want, 
would  you  doubt  her  love  to  do  it  ?  would  you  have  any  difficulty 
in  asking  her?" 

"Oh,  no!" 

"  Then  do  not  doubt  his. love  who  loves  you  better  still.  Come 
to  Jesus.  Do  not  fancy  he  is  away  up  in  heaven  out  of  reach  of 
hearing — he  is  here,  close  to  you,  and  knows  every  wish  and  throb 
of  your  heart.  Think  you  are  in  his  presence  and  at  his  feet, — 
even  now, — and  say  to  him  in  your  heart,  *  Lord,  look  upon  me — 
I  am  not  fit  to  come  to  thee,  but  thou  hast  bid  me  come — take  me 
D  7 


74  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

and  make  me  thine  own — take  this  hard  heart  that  I  can  do  nothing 
with,  and  make  it  holy  and  fill  it  with  thy  love — I  give  it  and  my 
self  into  thy  hands,  oh,  dear  Saviour!'  " 

These  words  were  spoken  very  low,  that  only  Ellen  could  catch 
them.  Her  bowed  head  sank  lower  and  lower  till  he  ceased  speak 
ing.  He  added  no  more  for  some  time  ;  waited  till  she  had  resumed 
her  usual  attitude  and  appearance,  and  then  said, — 

"  Ellen,  could  you  join  in  heart  with  my  words?" 

11 1  did,  sir, — I  couldn't  help  it,  all  but  the  last." 

"All  but  the  last?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  But,  Ellen,  if  you  say  the  first  part  of  my  prayer  with  your 
whole  heart,  the  Lord  will  enable  you  to  say  the  last  too, — do  you 
believe  that?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Will  you  not  make  that  your  constant  prayer  till  you  are  heard 
and  answered  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

And  he  thought  he  saw  that  she  was  in  earnest. 

"  Perhaps  the  answer  may  not  come  at  once, — it  does  not  always  ; 
— but  it  will  come  as  surely  as  the  sun  will  rise  to-morrow  morning. 
'  Then  shall  we  know,  if  we  follow  on  to  know  the  Lord.'  But  then 
you  must  be  in  earnest.  And  if  you  are  in  earnest,  is  there  nothing 
you  have  to  do  besides  praying  T ' 

Ellen  looked  at  him  without  making  any  answer. 

"  When  a  person  is  in  earnest,  how  does  he  show  it?" 

"  By  doing  every  thing  he  possibly  can  to  get  what  he  wants." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  her  friend,  smiling ; — "  and  has  God  bidden 
us  to  do  nothing  besides  pray  for  a  new  heart?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir, — he  has  told  us  to  do  a  great  many  things." 

"  And  will  he  be  likely  to  grant  that  prayer,  Ellen,  if  he  sees 
that  you  do  not  care  about  displeasing  him  in  those  '  great  many 
things?' — will  he  judge  that,  you  are  sincere  in  wishing  for  a  new 
heart?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir." 

"  Then  if  you  are  resolved  to  be  a  Christian,  you  will  not  be 
contented  with  praying  for  a  new  heart,  but  you  will  begin  at  once 
to  be  a  servant  of  God.  You  can  do  nothing  well  without  help, 
but  you  are  sure  the  help  will  come ;  and  from  this  good  day  you 
will  seek  to  know  and  to  do  the  will  of  God,  trusting  in  his  dear 
Son  to  perfect  that  which  concerneth  you. — My  little  child,"  said 
the  gentleman  softly  and  kindly,  "  are  you  ready  to  say  you  will 
do  this?" 

As  she  hesitated,  he  took  a  little  book  from  his  pocket,  and  turn 
ing  over  the  leaves,  said,  "  I  am  going  to  leave  you  for  a  little 
while — I  have  a  few  moments'  business  down  stairs  to  attend  to ; 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  75 

and  I  want  you  to  look  over  this  hymn  and  think  carefully  of  what 
I  have  been  saying,  will  you  ? — and  resolve  what  you  will  do.' ' 

Ellen  got  off  his  knee,  where  she  had  been  sitting  all  this  while, 
and  silently  taking  the  book,  sat  down  in  the  chair  he  had  quitted. 
Tears  ran  fast  again,  and  many  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind, 
as  her  eyes  went  over  and  over  the  words  to  which  he  had  pointed : 

"  Behold  the  Saviour  at  thy  door, 
He  gently  knocks, — has  knock'd  before,— 
Has  waited  long, — is  waiting  still, — 
You  treat  no  other  friend  so  ill. 

"  Oh,  lovely  attitude !— he  stands 
With  open  heart  and  outstretch'd  hands. 
Oh,  matchless  kindness ! — and  he  shows 
This  matchless  kindness  to  his  foes. 

"  Admit  him — for  the  human  breast 
Ne'er  entertain'd  so  kind  a  guest. 
Admit  him — or  the  hour's  at  hand 
When  at  his  door,  denied,  you'll  stand. 

"  Open  my  heart,  Lord,  enter  in  ; 
Slay  every  foe,  and  conquer  sin. 
Here  now  to  thee  I  all  resign, — 
My  body,  soul,  and  all  are  thine." 

The  last  two  lines  Ellen  longed  to  say,  but  could  not ;  the  two 
preceding  were  the  very  speech  of  her  heart. 

Not  more  than  fifteen  minutes  had  passed  when  her  friend  came 
back  again.  The  book  hung  in  Ellen's  hand  ;  her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  floor. 

"  Well,"  he  said  kindly,  and  taking  her  hand,  "  what's  your  de 
cision  ?" 

Ellen  looked  up. 

"  Have  you  made  up  your  mind  on  that  matter  we  were  talking 
about?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  Ellen  said  in  a  low  voice,  casting  her  eyes  down 
again. 

"  And  how  have  you  decided,  my  child?" 

"  I  will  try  to  do  as  you  said,  sir." 

"  You  will  begin  to  follow  your  Saviour,  and  to  please  him,  from 
this  day  forward  ?" 

"  I  will  try,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  meeting  his  eyes  as  she  spoke. 
Again  the  look  she  saw  made  her  burst  into  tears.  She  wept 
violently. 

"God  bless  you  and  help  you,  my  dear  Ellen,"  said  he,  gently 
passing  his  hand  over  her  head ; — "  but  do  not  cry  any  more — you 
have  shed  too  many  tears  this  morning  already.  We  will  not  talk 
about  this  any  more  now." 


76  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

And  he  spoke  only  soothing  and  quieting  words  for  a  while  to 
her ;  and  then  asked  if  she  would  like  to  go  over  the  boat  and  see 
the  different  parts  of  it.  Ellen's  joyful  agreement  with  this  pro 
posal  was  only  qualified  by  the  fear  of  giving  him  trouble.  But 
he  put  that  entirely  by. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Time  and  the  hour  run  through  the  roughest  day. 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  going  over  the  boat  held  them  a  long  time,  for  Ellen's  new 
friend  took  kind  pains  to  explain  to  her  whatever  he  thought  he 
could  make  interesting ;  he  was  amused  to  find  how  far  she  pushed 
her  inquiries  into  the  how  and  the  why  of  things.  For  the  time 
her  sorrows  were  almost  forgotten. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ?"  said  he,  when  they  had  at  last  gone 
through  the  whole ; — "  would  you  like  to  go  to  your  friends  ?" 

"  I  haven't  any  friends  on  board,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  swelling 
heart. 

"  Haven't  any  friends  on  board  !  what  do  you  mean?  Are  you 
alone?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen, — "  not  exactly  alone ;  my  father  put  me 
in  the  care  of  a  lady  that  is  going  to  Thirlwall ; — but  they  are 
strangers  and  not  friends." 

"  Are  they  tmfriends  ?  I  hope  you  don't  think,  Ellen,  that 
strangers  cannot  be  friends  too  ?" 

"No  indeed,  sir,  I  don't!"  said  Ellen,  looking  up  with  a  face 
that  was  fairly  brilliant  with  its  expression  of  gratitude  and  love. 
But  casting  it  down  again,  she  added,  "  But  they  are  not  my 
friends,  sir." 

"  Well  then,"  he  said,  smiling,  "  will  you  come  with  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir !  if  you  will  let  me, — and  if  I  shan't  be  a  trouble 
to  you,  sir." 

"  Come  this  way,"  said  he,  "  and  we'll  see  if  we  cannot  find  a 
nice  place  to  sit  down,  where  no  one  will  trouble  us." 

Such  a  place  was  found.  And  Ellen  would  have  been  quite 
satisfied  though  the  gentleman  had  done  no  more  than  merely  per 
mit  her  to  remain  there  by  his  side ;  but  he  took  out  his  little 
Bible,  and  read  and  talked  to  her  for  some  time,  so  pleasantly  that 
neither  her  weariness  nor  the  way  could  be  thought  of. 

When  he  ceased  reading  to  her  and  began  to  read  to  himself, 
weariness  and  faintness  stole  over  her.  She  had  had  nothing  to 


THE    WIDE,'  WIDE    WORLD. 


77 


eat,  and  had  been  violently  excited  that  day.  A  little  while  she 
sat  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  quietude, — then  her  thoughts  grew  misty, 
— and  the  end  of  it  was,  she  dropped  her  head  against  the  arm  of 
her  friend  and  fell  fast  asleep.  He  smiled  at  first,  but  one  look  at 
the  very  pale  little  face  changed  the  expression  of  his  own.  He 
gently  put  his  arm  round  her  and  drew  her  head  to  a  better  resting- 
place  than  it  had  chosen. 


And  there  she  slept  till  the  dinner-bell  rang.  Timmins  was  sent 
out  to  look  for  her,  but  Timmins  did  not  choose  to  meddle  with  the 
grave  protector  Ellen  seemed  to  have  gained  ;  and  Mrs.  Dunscombe 
declared  herself  rejoiced  that  any  other  hands  should  have  taken 
the  charge  of  her. 

After  dinner,  Ellen  and  her  friend  went  up  to  the  promenade 
deck  again,  and  there  for  a  while  they  paced  up  and  down,  enjoying 
the  pleasant  air  and  quick  motion,  and  the  lovely  appearance  of 
every  thing  in  the  mild  hazy  sunlight.  Another  gentleman  how 
ever  joining  them,  and  entering  into  conversation,  Ellen  silently 
quitted  her  friend's  hand  and  went  and  sat  down  at  the  side  of  the 
boat.  After  taking  a  few  turns  more,  and  while  still  engaged  in 
talking,  he  drew  his  little  hymn-book  out  of  his  pocket,  and  with 
a  smile  put  it  into  Ellen's  hand  as  he  passed.  She  gladly  received 


78  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

it,  and  spent  an  hour  or  more  very  pleasantly  in  studying  and  turn 
ing  it  over.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  the  stranger  having  left  him, 
Ellen's  friend  came  and  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"  How  do  you  like  my  little  book  ?"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  very  much  indeed,  sir." 

"  Then  you  love  hymns,  do  you?" 

"  Yes  I  do,  sir,  dearly." 

"  Do  you  sometimes  learn  them  by  heart  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  often.  Mamma  often  made  me  I  have  learnt 
two  since  I  have  been  sitting  here." 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  he  ; — "  which  are  they  ?" 

"  One  of  them  is  the  one  you  showed  me  this  morning,  sir." 

"  And  what  is  your  mind  now  about  the  question  I  asked  you 
this  morning?" 

Ellen  cast  down  her  eyes  from  his  inquiring  glance,  and  answered 
in  a  low  tone,  "  Just  what  it  was  then,  sir." 

"  Have  you  been  thinking  of  it  since  ?" 

"  I  have  thought  of  it  the  whole  time,  sir." 

"  And  you  are  resolved  you  will  obey  Christ  henceforth  ?" 

"  I  am  resolved  to  try,  sir." 

"  My  dear  Ellen,  if  you  are  in  earnest  you  will  not  try  in  vain. 
He  never  yet  failed  any  that  sincerely  sought  him.  Have  you  a 
Bible?" 

"  Oh,  yes  sir  !  a  beautiful  one :  mamma  gave  it  to  me  the  other 
day." 

He  took  the  hymn-book  from  her  hand,  and  turning  over  the 
leaves,  marked  several  places  in  pencil. 

"  I  am  going  to  give  you  this,"  he  said,  "  that  it  may  serve  to 
remind  you  of  what  we  have  talked  of  to-day,  and  of  your  resolu 
tion." 

Ellen  flushed  high  with  pleasure. 

"  I  have  put  this  mark,"  said  he,  showing  her  a  particular  one, 
"  in  a  few  places  of  this  book,  for  you  ;  wherever  you  find  it,  you 
may  know  there  is  something  I  want  you  to  take  special  notice 
of.  There  are  some  other  marks  here  too,  but  they  are  mine  :  these 
are  for  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  delighted;  "  I  shall  not  forget." 

He  knew  from  her  face  what  she  meant ; — not  the  marks. 

The  day  wore  on,  thanks  to  the  unwearied  kindness  of  her  friend, 
with  great  comparative  comfort  to  Ellen.  Late  in  the  afternoon 
they  were  resting  from  a  long  walk  up  and  down  the  deck. 

"  What  have  you  got  in  this  package  that  you  take  such  care 
of?"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  Oh  !  candies,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  am  always  forgetting  them.  I 
meant  to  ask  you  to  take  some.  Will  you  have  some,  sir  ?" 

"  Thank  you.     What  are  they  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  79 

"  Almost  all  kinds,  I  believe,  sir ;  I  think  the  almonds  are  the 
best." 

He  took  one. 

"  Pray,  take  some  more,  sir,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  don't  care  for  them 
in  the  least." 

"  Then  I  am  more  of  a  child  than  you, — in  this  at  any  rate, — 
for  I  do  care  for  them.  But  I  have  a  little  headache  to-day ;  I 
mustn't  meddle  with  sweets." 

"Then  take  some  for  to-morrow,  sir; — please  do!"  said  Ellen, 
dealing  them  out  very  freely. 

"Stop,  stop!"  said  he, — "not  a  bit  more;  this  won't  do, — I 
must  put  some  of  these  back  again;  you'll  want  them  to-morrow 
too." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall, '  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  haven't  wanted  to  touch 
them  to-day." 

"  Oh,  you'll  feel  brighter  to-morrow,  after  a  night's  sleep.  But 
aren't  you  afraid  of  catching  cold?  This  wind  is  blowing  pretty 
fresh,  and  you've  been  bonnetless  all  day; — what's  the  reason?" 

Ellen  looked  down,  and  coloured  a  good  deal. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  he,  laughing;  "has  any  mischief 
befallen  your  bonnet  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low  tone,  her  colour  mounting  higher 
and  higher  ; — "  it  was  laughed  at  this  morning." 

"Laughed  at ! — who  laughed  at  it?" 

"  Mrs.  Dunscombe  and  her  daughter,  and  her  maid." 

"  Did  they  !  I  don't  see  much  reason  in  that,  I  confess.  What 
did  they  think  was  the  matter  with  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ; — they  said  it  was  outlandish,  and  what  a 
figure  I  looked  in  it." 

"  Well,  certainly  that  was  not  very  polite.  Put  it  on  and  let  me 
see." 

Ellen  obeyed. 

"  I  am  not  the  best  judge  of  ladies'  bonnets,  it  is  true,"  said  he, 
"  but  I  can  see  nothing  about  it  that  is  not  perfectly  proper  and 
suitable, — nothing  in  the  world !  So  that  is  what  has  kept  you 
bareheaded  all  day?  Didn't  your  mother  wish  you  to  wear  that 
bonnet?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then  that  ought  to  be  enough  for  you.  Will  you  be  ashamed 
of  what  she  approved,  because  some  people  that  haven't  probably 
half  her  sense  choose  to  make  merry  with  it? — is  that  right?"  he 
said  gently.  "  Is  that  honouring  her  as  she  deserves  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  looking  up  into  his  face,  "but  I  never 
thought  of  that  before ; — I  am  sorry." 

"  Never  mind  being  laughed  at,  my  child.  If  your  mother  says 
a  thing  is  right,  that's  enough  for  you — let  them  laugh  !" 


80  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  won't  be  ashamed  of  my  bonnet  any  more,"  said  Ellen,  tying 
it  on  ;  "  but  they  made  me  very  unhappy  about  it,  and  very  angry 
too." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  said  her  friend,  gravely.  "  Have  you 
quite  got  over  it,  Ellen?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir, — long  ago." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?' ' 

"  I  am  not  angry  now,  sir." 

"Is  there  no  unkindness  left  toward  the  people  who  laughed  at 
you?" 

"  I  don't  like  them  much,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  how  can  I  ?" 

"  You  cannot  of  course  like  the  company  of  ill-behaved  people, 
and  I  do  not  wish  that  you  should ;  but  you  can  and  ought  to  feel 
just  as  kindly  disposed  toward  them  as  if  they  had  never  offended 
you — just  as  willing  and  inclined  to  please  them  or  do  them  good. 
Now,  could  you  offer  Miss  what's  her  name  ? — some  of  your  candies 
with  as  hearty  good- will  as  you  could  before  she  laughed  at  you  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  I  couldn't.  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  ever  wished  to  see  them 
again." 

"  Then,  my  dear  Ellen,  you  have  something  to  do,  if  you  were 
in  earnest  in  the  resolve  you  made  this  morning.  *  If  ye  forgive 
unto  men  their  trespasses,  my  Heavenly  Father  will  also  forgive 
you ;  but  if  you  forgive  not  men  their  trespasses,  neither  will  my 
father  forgive  your  trespasses  !" 

He  was  silent,  and  so  was  Ellen,  for  some  time.  His  words  had 
raised  a  struggle  in  her  mind  ;  and  she  kept  her  face  turned  toward 
the  shore,  so  that  her  bonnet  shielded  it  from  view  ;  but  she  did  not 
in  the  least  know  what  she  was  looking  at.  The  sun  had  been  some 
time  descending  through  a  sky  of  cloudless  splendour,  and  now  was 
just  kissing  the  mountain  tops  of  the  western  horizon.  Slowly  and 
with  great  majesty  he  sank  behind  the  distant  blue  line,  till  only  a 
glittering  edge  appeared, — and  then  that  was  gone.  There  were 
no  clouds  hanging  over  his  setting,  to  be  gilded  and  purpled  by  the 
parting  rays,  but  a  region  of  glory  long  remained,  to  show  where 
his  path  had  been. 

The  eyes  of  both  were  fixed  upon  this  beautiful  scene,  but  only 
one  was  thinking  of  it.  Just  as  the  last  glimpse  of  the  sun  had 
disappeared  Ellen  turned  her  face,  bright  again,  toward  her  com 
panion.  He  was  intently  gazing  toward  the  hills  that  had  so 
drawn  Ellen's  attention  a  while  ago,  and  thinking  still  more 
intently,  it  was  plain ;  so  though  her  mouth  had  been  open  to 
speak,  she  turned  her  face  away  again  as  suddenly  as  it  had  just 
sought  his.  He  saw  the  motion,  however. 

"  What  is  it,  Ellen  ?"  he  said. 

Ellen  looked  again  with  a  smile. 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  sir;  of  what  you  said  to  me." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  81 

"  Well  ?"  said  he  smiling  in  answer. 

"  I  can't  like  Mrs.  Dunscombe  and  Miss  Dunscombe  as  well  as 
if  they  hadn't  done  so  to  me,  but  I  will  try  to  behave  as  if  nothing 
had  been  the  matter,  and  be  as  kind  and  polite  to  them  as  if  they 
had  been  kind  and  polite  to  me." 

"And  how  about  the  sugar-plums  ?" 

"  The  sugar-plums  !  Oh,"  said  Ellen,  laughing,  "  Miss  Margaret 
may  have  them  all  if  she  likes — I'm  quite  willing.  Not  but  I  had 
rather  give  them  to  you,  sir." 

"  You  give  me  something  a  great  deal  better  when  I  see  you 
try  to  overcome  a  wrong  feeling.  You  mustn't  rest  till  you  get 
rid  of  every  bit  of  ill-will  that  you  feel  for  this  and  any  other  un- 
kindness  you  may  suffer.  You  cannot  do  it  yourself,  but  you  know 
who  can  help  you.  I  hope  you  have  asked  him,  Ellen?" 

"  I  have,  sir,  indeed." 

"  Keep  asking  him,  and  he  will  do  every  thing  for  you." 

A  silence  of  some  length  followed.  Ellen  began  to  feel  very 
much  the  fatigue  of  this  exciting  day,  and  sat  quietly  by  her  friend's 
side,  leaning  against  him.  The  wind  had  changed  about  sundown, 
and  now  blew  light  from  the  south,  so  that  they  did  not  feel  it  all. 

The  light  gradually  faded  away,  till  only  a  silver  glow  in  the 
west  showed  where  the  sun  had  set,  and  the  sober  grey  of  twilight 
was  gently  stealing  over  all  the  bright  colours  of  sky,  and  river, 
and  hill ;  now  and  then  a  twinkling  light  began  to  appear  along 
the  shores. 

"  You  are  very  tired,"  said  Ellen's  friend  to  her, — "I  see  you 
are.  A  little  more  patience,  my  child ; — we  shall  be  at  our  jour 
ney's  end  before  a  very  great  while." 

"I  am  almost  sorry,"  said  Ellen,  "though  I  am  tired.  We 
don't  go  in  the  steamboat  to-morrow;  do  we,  sir." 

"  No, — in  the  stage." 

"  Shall  you  be  in  the  stage,  sir?" 

"  No,  my  child.  But  I  am  glad  you  and  I  have  spent  this  day 
together." 

"  Oh,  sir !"  said  Ellen,  "I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  you  !" 

There  was  silence  again,  and  the  gentleman  almost  thought  his 
little  charge  had  fallen  asleep,  she  sat  so  still.  But  she  suddenly 
spoke  again,  and  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  showed  sleep  was  far  away. 

"  I  wish  I  knew  where  mamma  is  now  !" 

"  I  do  not  doubt,  my  child,  from  what  you  told  me,  that  it  is 
well  with  her  wherever  she  is.  Let  that  thought  comfort  you 
whenever  you  remember  her." 

"She  must  want  me  so  much,"  said  poor  Ellen,  in  a  scarcely 
audible  voice. 

"  She  has  not  lost  her  best  friend,  my  child." 


82  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  with  whom  grief  was  now  getting 
the  mastery, — "but  oh!  it's  just  near  the  time  when  I  used  to 
make  the  tea  for  her — who'll  make  it  now?  she'll  want  me, — oh, 
what  shall  I  do!"  and  overcome  completely  by  this  recollection, 
she  threw  herself  into  her  friend's  arms  and  sobbed  aloud. 

There  was  no  reasoning  against  this.  He  did  not  attempt  it ; 
but  with  the  utmost  gentleness  and  tenderness  endeavoured,  as 
soon  as  he  might,  to  soothe  and  calm  her.  He  succeeded  at  last ; 
with  a  sort  of  despairing  submission,  Ellen  ceased  her  tears,  and 
arose  to  her  former  position.  But  he  did  not  rest  from  his  kind 
endeavours  till  her  mind  was  really  eased  and  comforted;  which, 
however,  was  not  long  before  the  lights  of  a  city  began  to  appear 
in  the  distance.  And  with  them  appeared  a  dusky  figure  ascend 
ing  the  stairs,  which,  upon  nearer  approach,  proved  by  the  voice 
to  be  Timmins. 

"Is  this  Miss  Montgomery?"  said  she; — "I  can't  see,  I  am 
sure,  it's  so  dark.  Is  that  you,  Miss  Montgomery?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  "  it  is  I ;  do  you  want  me  ?" 

"  If  you  please,  miss,  Mrs.  Dunscombe  wants  you  to  come 
right  down  ;  we're  almost  in,  she  says,  miss." 

"  I'll  come  directly,  Miss  Timmins,"  said  Ellen.  "  Don't  wait 
for  me, — I  won't  be  a  minute, — I'll  come  directly." 

Miss  Timmins  retired,  standing  still  a  good  deal  in  awe  of  the 
grave  personage  whose  protection  Ellen  seemed  to  have  gained. 

11 1  must  go,"  said  Ellen,  standing  up  and  extending  her  hand  ; — 
"  Good-by,  sir." 

She  could  hardly  say  it.  He  drew  her  toward  him  and  kissed 
her  cheek  once  or  twice ;  it  was  well  he  did ;  for  it  sent  a  thrill  of 
pleasure  to  Ellen's  heart  that  she  did  not  get  over  that  evening, 
nor  all  the  next  day. 

"God  bless  you,  my  child,"  he  said,  gravely  but  cheerfully; 
"  and  good-night ! — you  will  feel  better  I  trust  when  you  have  had 
some  rest  and  refreshment." 

He  took  care  of  her  down  the  stairs,  and  saw  her  safe  to  the  very 
door  of  the  saloon,  and  within  it;  and  there  again  took  her  hand 
and  kindly  bade  her  good-night ! 

Ellen  entered  the  saloon  only  to  sit  down  and  cry  as  if  her  heart 
would  break.  She  saw  and  heard  nothing  till  Mrs.  Dunscombe's 
voice  bade  her  make  haste  and  be  ready,  for  they  were  going 
ashore  in  five  minutes. 

And  in  less  than  five  minutes  ashore  they  went. 

"Which  hotel,  ma'am?"  asked  the  servant  who  carried  her 
baggage, — "the  Eagle,  or  Foster's?" 

"  The  Eagle,"  said  Mrs.  Dunscombe. 

"  Coma  this  way  then  ma'am,"  said  another  man,  the  driver  of 
the  Eagle  carriage, — "Now  ma'am,  step  in,  if  you  please." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  83 

Mrs.  Dunscombe  put  her  daughter  in. 

"  But  it's  full !"  said  she  to  the  driver  j  "  there  isn't  room  for 
another  one  I" 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  there  is,"  said  the  driver,  holding  the  door 
open  ;  "  there's  plenty  of  room  for  you,  ma'am, — just  get  in,  ma'am, 
if  you  please, — we'll  be  there  in  less  than  two  minutes." 

"  Timmins,  you'll  have  to  walk,"  said  Mrs.  Dunscombe.  "  Miss 
Montgomery,  would  you  rather  ride,  or  walk  with  Timmins  ?' ' 

"  How  far  is  it,  ma'am?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  bless  me  !  how  can  I  tell  how  far  it  is?  I  don't  know,  I 
am  sure, — not  far; — say  quick, — would  you  rather  walk  or  ride?" 

"  I  would  rather  walk,  ma'am,  if  you  please,"  said  Ellen. 

"Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Dunscombe,  getting  in; — "Timmins, 
you  know  the  way." 

And  off  went  the  coach  with  its  load ;  but  tired  as  she  was, 
Ellen  did  not  wish  herself  along. 

Picking  a  passage-way  out  of  the  crowd,  she  and  Timmins  now 
began  to  make  their  way  up  one  of  the  comparatively  quiet  streets. 

It  was  a  strange  place — that  she  felt.  She  had  lived  long  enough 
in  the  place  she  had  left  to  feel  at  home  there ;  but  here  she  came 
to  no  street  or  crossing  that  she  had  ever  seen  before ;  nothing 
looked  familiar ;  all  reminded  her  that  she  was  a  traveller.  Only 
one  pleasant  thing  Ellen  saw  on  her  walk,  and  that  was  the  sky ; 
and  that  looked  just  as  it  did  at  home  ;  and  very  often  Ellen's  gaze 
was  fixed  upon  it,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  Miss  Timmins,  who 
had  to  be  not  a  little  watchful  for  the  safety  of  Ellen's  feet  while 
her  eyes  were  thus  employed.  She  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
Ellen,  however,  and  let  her  do  as  she  pleased,  keeping  all  her  won 
derment  to  herself. 

"  Take  cafe,  Miss  Ellen  !"  cried  Timmins,  giving  her  arm  a  great 
pull, — "  I  declare  I  just  saved  you  out  of  that  gutter  !  poor  child  ! 
you  are  dreadfully  tired,  ain't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  am  very  tired,  Miss  Timmins,"  said  Ellen,  "have  we 
much  further  to  go?" 

"  Not  a  great  deal,  dear ;  cheer  up  !  we  are  almost  there.  I  hope 
Mrs.  Dunscombe  will  want  to  ride  one  of  these  days  herself,  and 
can't." 

"Oh,  don't  say  so,  Miss  Timmins."  said  Ellen, — "I  don't  wish 
so,  indeed." 

"Well,  I  should  think  you  would,"  said  Timmins, — "I  should 
think  you'd  be  fit  to  poison  her; — /should,  I  know,  if  I  was  in 
your  place." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Ellen,  "  that  wouldn't  be  right, — that  would  be 
very  wrong." 

"  Wrong!"  said  Timmins, — "why  would  it  be  wrong?  she 
hasn't  behaved  good  to  you." 


84  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  don't  you  know  the  Bible  says  if  we 
do  not  forgive  people  what  they  do  to  us,  we  shall  not  be  forgiven 
ourselves?" 

"Well,  I  declare!"  said  Miss  Timmins,  "you  beat  all!  But 
here's  the  Eagle  hotel  at  last, — and  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  dear." 

Ellen  was  shown  into  the  ladies'  parlour.  She  was  longing  for 
a  place  to  rest,  but  she  saw  directly  it  was  not  to  be  there.  The 
room  was  large,  and  barely  furnished ;  and  round  it  were  scattered 
part  of  the  carriage-load  of  people  that  had  arrived  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  before  her.  They  were  waiting  till  their  rooms  should  be 
ready.  Ellen  silently  found  herself  a  chair  and  sat  down  to  wait 
with  the  rest,  as  patiently  as  she  might.  Few  of  them  had  as 
much  cause  for  impatience ;  but  she  was  the  only  perfectly  mute 
and  uncomplaining  one  there.  Her  two  companions  however 
between  them,  fully  made  up  her  share  of  fretting.  At  length,  a 
servant  brought  the  welcome  news  that  their  room  was  ready,  and 
the  three  marched  up  stairs.  It  made  Ellen's  very  heart  glad 
when  they  got  there,  to  find  a  good-sized,  cheerful-looking  bed 
room,  comfortably  furnished,  with  a  bright  fire  burning,  large 
curtains  let  down  to  the  floor,  and  a  nice  warm  carpet  upon  it. 
Taking  off  her  bonnet,  and  only  that,  she  sat  down  on  a  low 
cushion  by  the  corner  of  the  fireplace,  and  leaning  her  head  against 
the  jamb  fell  fast  asleep  almost  immediately.  Mrs.  Dunscombe 
set  about  arranging  herself  for  the  tea-table. 

"Well!"  she  said, — "one  day  of  this  precious  journey  is 
over !" 

"  Does  Ellen  go  with  us  to-morrow,  mamma  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!— quite  to  Thirlwall." 

"  Well,  you  haven't  had  much  plague  with  her  to-day,  mamma." 

«  No — I  am  sure  I  am  much  obliged  to  whoever  has  kept  her 
out  of  my  way." 

"  Where  is  she  going  to  sleep  to-night?"  asked  Miss  Margaret. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  am  sure. — I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  have  a  cot 
brought  in  here  for  her." 

"What  a  plague!"  said  Miss  Margaret.  "  It  will  lumber  up 
the  room  so  !  There's  no  place  to  put  it.  Couldn't  she  sleep  with 
Timmins?" 

"  Oh,  she  could,  of  course — just  as  well  as  not,  only  people 
would  make  such  a  fuss  about  it ; — it  wouldn't  do  ;  we  must  bear 
it  for  once.  I'll  try  and  not  be  caught  in  such  a  scrape  again." 

"How  provoking!"  said  Miss  Margaret;  "how  came  father  to 
do  so  without  asking  you  about  it?" 

"  Oh,  he  was  bewitched,  I  suppose, — men  always  are.  Look 
here,  Margaret, — I  can't  go  down  to  tea  with  a  train  of  children 
at  my  heels, — I  shall  leave  you  and  Ellen  up  here,  and  I'll  send 
up  your  tea  to  you." 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  85 

"Oh,  no,  mamma!"  said  Margaret  eagerly;  "I  want  to  go 
down  with  you.  Look  here,  mamma!  she's  asleep  and  you  needn't 
wake  her  up — that's  excuse  enough;  you  can  leave  her  to  have 
her  tea  up  here,  and  let  me  go  down  with  you." 

u  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Dunscombe, — "  I  don't  care — but  make  haste 
to  get  ready,  for  I  expect  every  minute  when  the  tea-bell  will  ring." 

"Timmins!  Timmins !"  cried  Margaret, — "come  here  and  fix 
me — quick! — and  step  softly,  will  you? — or  you'll  wake  that 
young  one  up,  and  then,  you  see,  I  shall  have  to  stay  up  stairs." 

This  did  not  happen  however.  Ellen's  sleep  was  much  too 
deep  to  be  easily  disturbed.  The  tea-bell  itself,  loud  and  shrill  as 
it  was,  did  not  even  make  her  eyelids  tremble.  After  Mrs.  and 
Miss  Dunscombe  were  gone  down,  Timmins  employed  herself  a 
little  while  in  putting  all  things  about  the  room  to  rights ;  and 
then  sat  down  to  take  her  rest,  dividing  her  attention  between  the 
fire  and  Ellen,  toward  whom  she  seemed  to  feel  more  and  more 
kindness,  as  she  saw  that  she  was  likely  to  receive  it  from  no  one 
else.  Presently  came  a  knock  at  the  door ; — "  The  tea  for  the 
young  lady,"  on  a  waiter.  Miss  Timmins  silently  took  the  tray 
from  the  man  and  shut  the  door.  "  Well !"  said  she  to  herself, — 
"  if  that  ain't  a  pretty  supper  to  send  up  to  a  child  that  has  gone 
two  hundred  miles  to-day,  and  had  no  breakfast ! — a  cup  of  tea, 
cold  enough  I'll  warrant, — bread  and  butter  enough  for  a  bird, — 
and  two  little  slices  of  ham  as  thick  as  a  wafer  ! — well,  I  just  wish 
Mrs.  Dunscombe  had  to  eat  it  herself,  and  nothing  else  ! — I'm  not 
going  to  wake  her  up  for  that,  I  know,  till  I  see  whether  some 
thing  better  ain't  to  be  had  for  love  or  money.  So  just  you 
sleep  on,  darling,  till  I  see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

In  great  indignation,  down  stairs  went  Miss  Timmins ;  and  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  met  a  rosy-cheeked,  pleasant-faced  girl 
coming  up. 

"  Are  you  the  chambermaid?"  said  Timmins. 

"I'm  one  of  the  chambermaids,"  said  the  girl  smiling ;  "  there's 
three  of  us  in  this  house,  dear." 

"  Well,  I  am  a  stranger  here,"  said  Timmins,  "but  I  want  you 
to  help  me,  and  I  am  sure  you  will.  I've  got  a  dear  little  girl  up 
stairs  that  I  want  some  supper  for — she's  a  sweet  child,  and  she's 
under  the  care  of  some  proud  folks  here  in  the  tea-room  that  think 
it's  too  much  trouble  to  look  at  her  ;  and  they've  sent  her  up  about 
supper  enough  for  a  mouse, — and  she's  half  starving ;  she  lost  her 
breakfast  this  morning  by  their  ugliness.  Now  ask  one  of  the  waiters 
to  give  me  something  nice  for  her,  will  you  ? — there's  a  good  girl." 

"  James  !" — said  the  girl  in  a  loud  whisper  to  one  of  the  waiters 
who  was  crossing  the  hall.  He  instantly  stopped  and  came  toward 
them,  tray  in  hand,  and  making  several  extra  polite  bows  as  he  drew 
near. 


86  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  What's  on  the  supper-table,  James?"  said  the  smiling  damsel. 

"  Every  thing  that  ought  to  be  there,  Miss  Johns,"  said  the  man, 
with  another  flourish. 

"  Come,  stop  your  nonsense,"  said  the  girl,  "  and  tell  me  quick 
— I'm  in  a  hurry." 

"It's  a  pleasure  to  perform  your  commands,  Miss  Johns.  I'll 
give  you  the  whole  bill  of  fare.  There's  a  very  fine  beef-steak, 
fricasseed  chickens,  stewed  oysters,  sliced  ham,  cheese,  preserved 
quinces, — with  the  usual  complement  of  bread  and  toast  and  muffins, 
and  doughnuts,  and  new-year  cake,  and  plenty  of  butter, — likewise 
salt  and  pepper, — likewise  tea  and  coffee,  and  sugar, — likewise, — " 

"  Hush  !"  said  the  girl.  "  Do  stop,  will  you  ?"— and  then  laugh 
ing  and  turning  to  Miss  Timmins,  she  added,  "  What  will  you 
have?" 

"  I  guess  I'll  have  some  of  the  chickens  and  oysters,"  said 
Timmins  ;  "  that  will  be  the  nicest  for  her, — and  a  muffin  or  two." 

"Now,  James,  do  you  hear?"  said  the  chambermaid;  "I  want 
you  to  get  me  now,  right  away,  a  nice  little  supper  of  chickens  and 
oysters  and  a  muffin — it's  for  a  lady  up  stairs.  Be  as  quick  as 
you  can." 

"  I  should  be  very  happy  to  execute  impossibilities  for  you,  Miss 
Johns,  but  Mrs.  Ousters  is  at  the  table  herself." 

"  Very  well — that's  nothing — she'll  think  it's  for  somebody  up 
stairs — and  so  it  is." 

"  Ay,  but  the  up-stairs  people  is  Tim's  business — I  should  be 
hauled  over  the  coals  directly." 

"  Then  ask  Tim,  will  you?  How  slow  you  are  !  Now,  James, 
if  you  don't,  I  won't  speak  to  you  again." 

"  Till  to-morrow  ? — I  couldn't  stand  that.  It  shall  be  done,  Miss 
Johns,  instantum." 

Bowing  and  smiling,  away  went  James,  leaving  the  girls  giggling 
on  the  staircase  and  highly  gratified. 

"  He  always  does  what  I  want  him  to,"  said  the  good-humoured 
chambermaid,  "  but  he  generally  makes  a  fuss  about  it  first.  He'll 
be  back  directly  with  what  you  want." 

Till  he  came,  Miss  Timmins  filled  up  the  time  with  telling  her 
new  friend  as  much  as  she  knew  about  Ellen  and  Ellen's  hardships  ; 
with  which  Miss  Johns  was  so  much  interested  that  she  declared 
she  must  go  up  and  see  her ;  and  when  James  in  a  few  minutes 
returned  with  a  tray  of  nice  things,  the  two  women  proceeded 
together  to  Mrs.  Dunscombe's  room.  Ellen  had  moved  so  far  as  to 
put  herself  on  the  floor  with  her  head  on  the  cushion  for  a  pillow, 
but  she  was  as  sound  asleep  as  ever. 

"  Just  see  now  !"  said  Timmins ;  "  there  she  lies  on  the  floor — 
enough  to  give  her  her  death  of  cold  ;  poor  child,  she's  tired  to 
death ;  and  Mrs.  Dunscombe  made  her  walk  up  from  the  steamboat 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  87 

to-night  rather  than  do  it  herself ; — I  declare  I  wished  the  coach 
would  break  down,  only  for  the  other  folks.  I  am  glad  I  have  got 
a  good  supper  for  her  though, — thank  you,  Miss  Johns." 

"  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  I'll  go  and  get  you  some  nice  hot  tea," 
said  the  chambermaid,  who  was  quite  touched  by  the  sight  of 
Ellen's  little  pale  face. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Timmins, — "  you'  re  a  darling.  This  is  as 
cold  as  a  stone." 

While  the  chambermaid  went  forth  on  her  kind  errand,  Timmins 
stooped  down  by  the  little  sleeper's  side.  "Miss  Ellen!"  she 
said ; — "  Miss  Ellen  ! — wake  up,  dear — wake  up  and  get  some  sup 
per — come!  you'll  feel  a  great  deal  better  for  it — you  shall  sleep 
as  much  as  you  like  afterwards." 

Slowly  Ellen  raised  herself  and  opened  her  eyes.  "  Where  am 
I?"  she  asked,  looking  bewildered. 

"  Here,  dear,"  said  Timmins  ; — "  wake  up  and  eat  something — 
it  will  do  you  good." 

With  a  sigh,  poor  Ellen  arose  and  came  to  the  fire.  "  You're 
tired  to  death,  ain't  you  ?"  said  Timmins. 

"Not  quite,"  said  Ellen.  "I  shouldn't  mind  that  if  my  legs 
would  not  ache  so — and  my  head,  too." 

"  Now  I'm  sorry  !"  said  Timmins ;  "  but  your  head  will  be  bet 
ter  for  eating,  I  know.  See  here — I've  got  you  some  nice  chicken 
and  oysters, — and  I'll  make  this  muffin  hot  for  you  by  the  fire; 
and  here  comes  your  tea.  Miss  Johns,  I'm  your  servant,  and  I'll 
be  your  bridesmaid  with  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life.  Now,  Miss 
Ellen,  dear,  just  you  put  yourself  on  that  low  chair,  and  I'll  fix 
you  off." 

Ellen  thanked  her,  and  did  as  she  was  told.  Timmins  brought 
another  chair  to  her  side,  and  placed  the  tray  with  her  supper  upon 
it,  and  prepared  her  muffin  and  tea ;  and  having  fairly  seen  Ellen 
begin  to  eat,  she  next  took  off  her  shoes,  and  seating  herself  on 
the  carpet  before  her,  she  made  her  lap  the  resting  place  for  Ellen's 
feet,  chafing  them  in  her  hands  and  heating  them  at  the  fire,  say 
ing  there  was  nothing  like  rubbing  and  roasting  to  get  rid  of  the 
leg-ache.  By  the  help  of  the  supper,  the  fire,  and  Timmins,  Ellen 
mended  rapidly.  With  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  thanked  the  latter 
for  her  kindness. 

"Now  just  don't  say  one  word  about  that,"  said  Timmins  ;  "  I 
never  was  famous  for  kindness,  as  I  know  ;  but  people  must  be  kind 
sometimes  in  their  lives, — unless  they  happen  to  be  made  of  stone, 
which  I  believe  some  people  are.  You  feel  better,  don't  you?" 

"A  great  deal,"  said  Ellen.  "Oh,  if  I  only  could  go  to  bed, 
now!" 

"  And  you  shall,"  said  Timmins.  "  I  know  about  your  bed,  and 
I'll  go  right  away  and  have  it  brought  in."  And  away  she  went. 


88  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

While  she  was  gone,  Ellen  drew  from  her  pocket  her  little  hymn- 
book,  to  refresh  herself  with  looking  at  it.  How  quickly  and 
freshly  it  brought  back  to  her  mind  the  friend  who  had  given  it, 
and  his  conversations  with  her,  and  the  resolve  she  had  made ;  and 
again  Ellen's  whole  heart  offered  the  prayer  she  had  repeated  many 
times  that  day, — 

"  Open  my  heart,  Lord,  enter  in  j 
Slay  every  foe,  and  conquer  sin." 

Her  head  was  still  bent  upon  her  little  book  when  Timmins  en 
tered.  Timmins  was  not  alone ;  Miss  Johns  and  a  little  cot  bed 
stead  came  in  with  her.  The  latter  was  put  at  the  foot  of  Mrs. 
Dunscombe's  bed,  and  speedily  made  up  by  the  chambermaid,  while 
Timmins  undressed  Ellen ;  and  very  soon  all  the  sorrows  and  vex 
ations  of  the  day  were  forgotten  in  a  sound,  refreshing  sleep.  But 
not  till  she  had  removed  her  little  hymn-book  from  the  pocket  of 
her  frock  to  a  safe  station  under  her  pillow ;  it  was  with  her  hand 
upon  it  that  Ellen  went  to  sleep ;  and  it  was  in  her  hand  still  when 
she  was  waked  the  next  morning. 

The  next  day  was  spent  in  a  wearisome  stage-coach,  over  a  rough, 
jolting  road.  Ellen's  companions  did  nothing  to  make  her  way 
pleasant,  but  she  sweetened  theirs  with  her  sugar-plums.  Some 
what  mollified,  perhaps,  after  that,  Miss  Margaret  condescended  to 
enter  into  conversation  with  her,  and  Ellen  underwent  a  thorough 
cross-examination  as  to  all  her  own  and  her  parents'  affairs,  past, 
present,  and  future,  and  likewise  as  to  all  that  could  be  known  of  her 
yesterday's  friend,  till  she  was  heartily  worried,  and  out  of  patience. 

It  was  just  five  o'clock  when  they  reached  her  stopping-place. 
Ellen  knew  of  no  particular  house  to  go  to ;  so  Mrs.  Dunscombe 
set  her  down  at  the  door  of  the  principal  inn  of  the  town,  called 
the  "Star"  of  Thirl  wall. 

The  driver  smacked  his  whip,  and  away  went  the  stage  again, 
and  she  was  left  standing  alone  beside  her  trunk  before  the  piazza 
of  the  inn,  watching  Timmins,  who  was  looking  back  at  her  out 
of  the  stage  window,  nodding  and  waving  good  by. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GadshilL — Sirrah,  carrier,  what  time  do  you  mean  to  come  to  London  ?. 
2d  Carrier. — Time  enough  to  go  to  bed  with  a  candle,  I  warrant  thee. 

KING  HENRY  IV. 

ELLEN  had  been  whirled  along  over  the  roads  for  so  many  hours, 
— the  rattle  of  the  stage-coach  had  filled  her  ears  for  so  long, — that 
now,  suddenly  still  and  quiet,  she  felt  half  stunned.  She  stood 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  89 

with  a  kind  of  dreamy  feeling,  looking  after  the  departing  stage 
coach.  In  it  there  were  three  people  whose  faces  she  knew,  and 
she  could  not  count  a  fourth  within  many  a  mile.  One  of  those 
was  a  friend,  too,  as  the  fluttering  handkerchief  of  poor  Miss  Tim- 
mins  gave  token  still.  Yet  Ellen  did  not  wish  herself  back  in  the 
coach,  although  she  continued  to  stand  and  gaze  after  it  as  it  rattled 
off  at  a  great  rate  down  the  little  street,  its  huge  body  lumbering 
up  and  down  every  now  and  then,  reminding  her  of  sundry  un 
comfortable  jolts  ;  till  the  horses  making  a  sudden  turn  to  the  right, 
it  disappeared  round  a  corner.  Still  for  a  minute  Ellen  watched 
the  whirling  cloud  of  dust  it  had  left  behind  ;  but  then  the  feeling 
of  strangeness  and  loneliness  came  over  her,  and  her  heart  sank. 
She  cast  a  look  up  and  down  the  street.  The  afternoon  was  lovely  ; 
the  slant  beams  of  the  setting  sun  came  back  from  gilded  windows, 
and  the  houses  and  chimney-tops  of  the  little  town  were  in  a  glow  j 
but  she  saw  nothing  bright  anywhere  ; — in  all  the  glory  of  the  setting 
sun  the  little  town  looked  strange  and  miserable.  There  was  no 
sign  of  her  having  been  expected ;  nobody  was  waiting  to  meet  her. 
What  was  to  be  done  next  ?  Ellen  had  not  the  slightest  idea. 

Her  heart  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  she  turned  again  to  the 
inn.  A  tall,  awkward  young  countryman,  with  a  cap  set  on  one 
side  of  his  head,  was  busying  himself  with  sweeping  off  the  floor 
of  the  piazza,  but  in  a  very  leisurely  manner ;  and  between  every 
two  strokes  of  his  broom  he  was  casting  long  looks  at  Ellen,  evi 
dently  wondering  who  she  was  and  what  she  could  want  there. 
Ellen  saw  it,  and  hoped  he  would  ask  her  in  words,  for  she  could 
not  answer  his  looks  of  curiosity, — but  she  was  disappointed.  As 
he  reached  the  end  of  the  piazza  and  gave  his  broom  two  or  three 
knocks  against  the  edge  of  the  boards  to  clear  it  of  dust,  he  in 
dulged  himself  with  one  good  long  finishing  look  at  Ellen,  and  then 
she  saw  he  was  going  to  take  himself  and  his  broom  into  the  house. 
So  in  despair  she  ran  up  the  two  or  three  low  steps  of  the  piazza 
and  presented  herself  before  him.  He  stopped  short. 

"Will  you  please  to  tell  me,  sir,"  said  poor  Ellen,  "if  Miss 
Emerson  is  here  ?" 

"  Miss  Emerson?"  said  he, — "  what  Miss  Emerson?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir, — Miss  Emerson  that  lives  not  far  from 
Thirl  wall." 

Eying  Ellen  from  head  to  foot,  the  man  then  trailed  his  broom 
into  the  house.  Ellen  followed  him. 

"Mr.  Forbes!"  said  he,  "Mr.  Forbes!  do  you  know  any  thing 
of  Miss  Emerson?" 

"  What  Miss  Emerson?"  said  another  man,  with  a  big  red  face 
and  a  big  round  body,  showing  himself  in  a  doorway  which  he 
nearly  filled. 

"  Miss  Emerson  that  lives  a  little  way  out  of  town." 

8* 


90  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Miss  Fortune  Emerson  ?  yes,  I  know  her.     What  of  her  ?" 

"  Has  she  been  here  to-day?" 

"  Here  ?  what,  in  town  ?  No — not  as  I've  seen  or  heerd.  Why, 
who  wants  her?" 

"  This  little  girl." 

And  the  man  with  the  broom  stepping  back,  disclosed  Ellen  to 
the  view  of  the  red-faced  landlord.  He  advanced  a  step  or  two 
toward  her. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  Miss  Fortune,  little  one  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  expected  she  would  meet  me  here,  sir,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Where  have  you  come  from  ?" 

"  From  New  York." 

"  The  stage  set  her  down  just  now,"  put  in  the  other  man. 

"  And  you  thought  Miss  Fortune  would  meet  you,  did  you?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  'she  was  to  meet  me  and  take  me  home." 

"  Take  you  home  1     Are  you  going  to  Miss  Fortune's  home?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Why,  you  don't  belong  to  her  any  way,  do  you?'* 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  she's  my  aunt." 

"She's  your  what?" 

"My  aunt,  sir, — my  father's  sister." 

"Your  father's  sister!  You  ben't  the  daughter  of  Morgan 
Montgomery,  be  you?" 

'•  Yes,  I  am,"  said  Ellen,  half  smiling. 

"  And  you  are  come  to  make  a  visit  to  Miss  Fortune,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  no  longer. 

"And  Miss  Fortune  ha' n't  come  up  to  meet  you; — that's  real 
shabby  of  her ;  and  how  to  get  you  down,  there  to-night,  I  am  sure 
is  more  than  I  can  tell." — And  he  shouted,  "  Wife  !" 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Forbes?"  said  a  fat  landlady,  appear 
ing  in  the  doorway,  which  she  filled  near  as  well  as  her  hjisband 
would  have  done. 

"Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Forbes,  "here's  Morgan  Montgomery's 
daughter  come  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  aunt,  Fortune  Emerson.  Don't 
you  think  she'll  be  glad  to  see  her?" 

Mr.  Forbes  put  this  question  with  rather  a  curious  look  at  his 
wife.  She  didn't  answer  him.  She  only  looked  at  Ellen,  looked 
grave,  and  gave  a  queer  little  nod  of  her  head,  which  meant,  Ellen 
could  not  make  out  what. 

"Now,  what's  to  be  done?"  continued  Mr.  Forbes.  "Miss 
Fortune  was  to  have  come  up  to  meet  her,  but  she  ain't  here,  and 
I  don't  know  how  in  the  world  I  can  take  the  child  down  there  to 
night.  The  horses  are  both  out  to  plough,  you  know  ;  and  besides, 
the  tire  is  come  off  that  wagon  wheel.  I  couldn't  possibly  use  it. 
And  then  it's  a  great  question  in  my  mind  what  Miss  Fortune 
would  say  to  me.  I  should  get  paid.  I  s'pose?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  91 

"Yes,  you'd  get  paid,"  said  his  wife,  with  another  little  shake 
of  her  head ;  "  but  whether  it  would  be  the  kind  of  pay  you'd  like, 
/don't  know.'* 

"Well,  what's  to  be  done,  wife?  Keep  the  child  over-night, 
and  send  word  down  yonder?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes,  "I'll  tell  you.  I  think  I  saw  Van 
Brunt  go  by  two  or  three  hours  ago  with  the  ox-cart,  and  I  guess 
he's  somewhere  up  town  yet;  I  ha'n't  seen  him  go  back.  He  can 
take  the  child  home  with  him.  Sam !"  shouted  Mrs.  Forbes, — 
"  Sam  ! — here  ! — Sam,  run  up  street  directly,  and  see  if  you  see  Mr. 
Van  Brunt's  ox-cart  standing  anywhere — I  dare  say  he's  at  Mr. 
Miller's,  or  maybe  at  Mr.  Hammersley's,  the  blacksmith — and  ask 
him  to  stop  here  before  he  goes  home.  Now  hurry  ! — and  don't 
run  over  him  and  then  come  back  and  tell  me  he  ain't  in  town." 

Mrs.  Forbes  herself  followed  Sam  to  the  door,  and  cast  an  ex 
ploring  look  in  every  direction. 

"  I  don't  see  no  signs  of  him, — up  nor  down,"  said  she,  returning 
to  Ellen  ;  "  but  I'm  pretty  sure  he  ain't  gone  home.  Come  in  here 
— come  in  here,  dear,  and  make  yourself  comfortable ;  it'll  be  a 
while  yet  maybe  'afore  Mr.  Van  Brunt  comes,  but  he'll  be  along 
by  and  by ; — come  in  here  and  rest  yourself." 

She  opened  a  door,  and  Ellen  followed  her  into  a  large  kitchen, 
where  a  fire  was  burning  that  showed  wood  must  be  plenty  in  those 
regions.  Mrs.  Forbes  placed  a  low  chair  for  her  on  the  hearth,  but 
herself  remained  standing  by  the  side  of  the  fire,  looking  earnestly 
and  with  a  good  deal  of  interest  upon  the  little  stranger.  Ellen 
drew  her  white  bonnet  from  her  head,  and  sitting  down  with  a 
wearied  air,  gazed  sadly  into  the  flames  that  were  shedding  their 
light  upon  her. 

"Are  you  going  to  stop  a  good  while  with  Miss  Fortune?"  said 
Mrs.  Forbes. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am, — yes,  I  believe  so,"  said  Ellen  faintly. 

"  Ha'n't  you  got  no  mother?"  asked  Mrs.  Forbes  suddenly,  after 
a  pause. 

"  Oh,  yes !"  said  Ellen,  looking  up.  But  the  question  had 
touched  the  sore  spot.  Her  head  sank  on  her  hands,  and  "  Oh, 
mamma!"  was  uttered  with  a  bitterness  that  even  Mrs.  Forbes 
could  feel. 

"  Now  what  made  me  ask  you  that !"  said  she.  "  Don't  cry  ! — 
don't,  love;  poor  little  dear!  you're  as  pale  as  a  sheet;  you're 
tired,  I  know — ain't  you?  Now  cheer  up,  do, — I  can't  bear  to  see 
you  cry.  You've  come  a  great  ways  to-day,  ha'n't  you?" 

Ellen  nodded  her  head,  but  could  give  no  answer. 

"  I  know  what  will  do  you  good,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes  presently, 
petting  up  from  the  crouching  posture  she  had  taken  to  comfort 
Ellen ;  "  you  want  something  to  eat, — that's  the  matter.  I'll 


92  THE    WIDE,  WIDE    WORLD. 

warrant  you're  half  starved ; — no  wonder  you  feel  bad.  Poor  little 
thing !  you  shall  have  something  good  directly." 

And  away  she  bustled  to  get  it.  Left  alone,  Ellen's  tears  flowed 
a  few  minutes  very  fast.  She  felt  forlorn  ;  and  she  was  besides,  as 
Mrs.  Forbes  opined,  both  tired  and  faint.  But  she  did  not  wish  to 
be  found  weeping ;  she  checked  her  tears,  and  was  sitting  again 
quietly  before  the  fire  when  the  landlady  returned. 

Mrs.  Forbes  had  a  great  bowl  of  milk  in  one  hand,  and  a  plate 
of  bread  in  the  other,  which  she  placed  on  the  kitchen  table,  and 
setting  a  chair,  called  Ellen  to  come  and  partake  of  it. 

"  Come,  dear, — here  is  something  that  will  do  you  good.  I  thought 
there  was  a  piece  of  pie  in  the  buttery,  and  so  there  was,  but  Mr. 
Forbes  must  have  got  hold  of  it,  for  it  ain't  there  now  ;  and  there 
ain't  a  bit  of  cake  in  the  house  for  you  ;  but  I  thought  maybe  you 
would  like  this  as  well  as  any  thing.  Come !" 

Ellen  thanked  her,  but  said  she  did  not  want  any  thing. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes ;  "  I  know  better.  You're 
as  pale  as  I  don't  know  what.  Come  !  this' 11  put  roses  in  your 
cheeks.  Don't  you  like  bread  and  milk?" 

"Yes,  very  much  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  "but  I'm  not 
hungry."  She  rose,  however,  and  came  to  the  table. 

"  Oh,  well,  try  to  eat  a  bit  just  to  please  me.  It's  real  good 
country  milk — not  a  bit  of  cream  off  You  don't  get  such  milk  as 
that  in  the  city,  I  guess.  That's  right! — I  see  the  roses  coming 
back  to  your  cheeks  already.  Is  your  pa  in  New  York  now  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  You  expect  your  pa  and  ma  up  to  Thirlwall  by  and  by,  don't 
you?' 


"No,  ma'am.' 


Mrs.  Forbes  was  surprised,  and  longed  to  ask  why  not,  and  what 
Ellen  had  come  for ;  but  the  shade  that  had  passed  over  her  face 
as  she  answered  the  last  question  warned  the  landlady  she  was 
getting  upon  dangerous  ground. 

u  Does  your  aunt  expect  you  to-night?' 

"  I  believe  so,  ma'am, — I  don't  know, — she  was  to  have  met  me ; 
papa  said  he  would  write." 

"  Oh,  well!  maybe  something  hindered  her  from  coming.  It's 
no  matter;  you'll  get  home  just  as  well.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  will  be 
here  soon,  I  guess ;  it's  most  time  for  him  to  be  along." 

She  went  to  the  front  door  to  look  out  for  him,  but  returned  with 
out  any  news.  A  few  minutes  passed  in  silence,  for  though  full  of 
curiosity,  the  good  landlady  dared  not  ask  what  she  wanted  to  know, 
for  fear  of  again  exciting  the  sorrow  of  her  little  companion.  She 
contented  herself  with  looking  at  Ellen,  who  on  her  part,  much 
rested  and  refreshed,  had  turned  from  the  table  and  was  again, 
though  somewhat  less  sadly,  gaxing  into  the  fire. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  93 

Presently  the  great  wooden  clock  struck  half-past  five,  with  a 
whirring,  rickety  voice,  for  all  the  world  like  a  hoarse  grasshopper. 
Ellen  at  first  wondered  where  it  came  from,  and  was  looking  at 
the  clumsy  machine  that  reached  nearly  from  the  floor  of  the 
kitchen  to  the  ceiling,  when  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  room 
opened,  and  "Good-day,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  in  a  rough  but  not  un 
pleasant  voice,  brought  her  head  quickly  round  in  that  direction. 
There  stood  a  large,  strong-built  man,  with  an  ox-whip  in  his 
hand.  He  was  well-made  and  rather  handsome,  but  there  was 
something  of  heaviness  in  the  air  of  both  face  and  person  mixed 
with  his  certainly  good-humoured  expression.  His  dress  was  as 
rough  as  his  voice — a  coarse  grey  frock-coat,  green  velveteen 
pantaloons,  and  a  fur  cap  that  had  seen  its  best  days  some  time 
ago. 

"Good-day,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  said  this  personage  5  "Sam  said  you 
wanted  me  to  stop  as  I  went  along." 

"  Ah,  how  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?"  said  the  landlady,  rising; 
"  you've  got  the  ox-cart  here  with  you,  ha' n't  you?" 

"  Yes,  I've  got  the  ox-cart,"  said  the  person  addressed.  "  I  came 
in  town  for  a  barrel  of  flour,  and  then  the  near  ox  had  lost  both 
his  fore  shoes  off,  and  I  had  to  go  over  there,  and  Hammersley  has 
kept  me  a  precious  long  time.  What's  wanting,  Mrs.  Forbes  ?  I 
can't  stop." 

"  You've  no  load  in  the  cart,  have  you  ?"  said  the  landlady. 

"  No ;  I  should  have  had  though,  but  Miller  had  no  shorts  nor 
fresh  flour,  nor  won't  till  next  week.  What's  to  go  down,  Mrs. 
Forbes?" 

"  The  nicest  load  ever  you  carried,  Mr.  Yan  Brunt.  Here's  a 
little  lady  come  to  stay  with  Miss  Fortune.  She's  a  daughter  of 
Captain  Montgomery,  Miss  Fortune's  brother,  you  know.  She 
came  by  the  stage  a  little  while  ago,  and  the  thing  is  now  to  get 
her  down  to-night.  She  can  go  in  the  cart,  can't  she?" 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  a  little  doubtful,  and  pulling  off  his  cap 
with  one  hand,  while  he  scratched  his  head  with  the  other,  he  ex 
amined  Ellen  from  head  to  foot ;  much  as  if  she  had  been  some 
great  bale  of  goods,  and  he  were  considering  whether  his  cart 
would  hold  her  or  not. 

"Well,"  said  he  at  length, — "  I  don't  know  but  she  can;  but 
there  ain't  nothing  on  'arth  for  her  to  sit  down  upon." 

"Oh,  never  mind;  I'll  fix  that,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes.  "Is  there 
any  straw  in  the  bottom  of  the  cart?" 

"Not  a  bit." 

"Well,  I'll  fix  it,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes.  "  You  get  her  trunk  into 
the  cart,  will  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?  and  I'll  see  to  the  rest." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  moved  off  without  another  word  to  do  what  was 
desired  of  him, — apparently  quite  confounded  at  having  a  passen- 


94  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

ger  instead  of  his  more  wonted  load  of  bags  and  barrels.  And 
his  face  still  continued  to  wear  the  singular  doubtful  expression  it 
had  put  on  at  first  hearing  the  news.  Ellen's  trunk  was  quickly 
hoisted  in,  however ;  and  Mrs.  Forbes  presently  appeared  with  a 
little  arm-chair,  which  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with  an  approving  look  be 
stowed  in  the  cart,  planting  it  with  its  back  against  the  trunk  to 
keep  it  steady.  Mrs.  Forbes  then  raising  herself  on  tiptoe  by  the 
side  of  the  cart,  took  a  view  of  the  arrangements. 

"  That  won't  do  yet,"  said  she  ;  "  her  feet  will  be  cold  on  that 
bare  floor,  and  'tain't  over  clean  neither.  Here,  Sally !  run  up  and 
fetch  me  that  piece  of  carpet  yoVll  find  lying  at  the  top  of  the 
back  stairs.  Now,  hurry  ! — Now,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  I  depend  upon 
you  to  get  my  things  back  again  ;  will  you  see  and  bring  'em  the 
first  time  you  come  in  town  ?" 

"I'll  see  about  it.  But  what  if  I  can't  get  hold  of  them?" 
answered  the  person  addressed,  with  a  half  smile. 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes,  with  another,  "  I  leave  that  to  you ; 
you  have  your  ways  and  means.  Now,  just  spread  this  carpet 
down  nicely  under  her  chair ;  and  then  she'll  be  fixed.  Now,  my 
darling,  you'll  ride  like  a  queen.  But  how  are  you  going  to  get 
in  ?  Will  you  let  Mr.  Van  Brunt  lift  you  up  ?" 

Ellen's  "  Oh,  no,  ma'am,  if  you  please  !"  was  accompanied  with 
such  an  evident  shrinking  from  the  proposal,  that  Mrs.  Forbes 
did  not  press  it.  A  chair  was  brought  from  the  kitchen,  and  by 
making  a  long  step  from  it  to  the  top  of  the  wheel,  and  then  to 
the  edge  of  the  cart,  Ellen  was  at  length  safely  stowed  in  her  place. 
Kind  Mrs.  Forbes  then  stretched  herself  up  over  the  side  of  the 
cart  to  shake  hands  with  her  and  bid  her  good-by,  'telling  her  again 
she  would  ride  like  a  queen.  Ellen  answered  only  "Good-by, 
ma'am  ;"  but  it  was  said  with  a  look  of  so  much  sweetness,  and 
eyes  swimming  half  in  sadness  and  half  in  gratefulness,  that  the 
good  landlady  could  not  forget  it. 

"  I  do  think,"  said  she,  when  she  went  back  to  her  husband, 
"  that  is  the  dearest  little  thing,  about,  I  ever  did  see." 

"Humph!"  said  her  husband,  "I  reckon  Miss  Fortune  will 
think  so  too." 

.   The   doubtful   look  came  back  to  Mrs.  Forbes'  face,  and  with 
another  little  grave  shake  of  her  head,  she  went  into  the  kitchen. 

"How  kind  she  is!  how  good  every  body  is  to  me,"  thought 
little  Ellen,  as  she  moved  off  in  state  in  her  chariot  drawn  by 
oxen.  Quite  a  contrast  this  new  way  of  travelling  was  to  the  noisy 
stage  and  swift  steamer.  Ellen  did  not  know  at  first  whether  to 
like  or  dislike  it ;  but  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  very 
funny,  and  a  remarkably  amusing  way  of  getting  along.  There 
was  one  disadvantage  about  it  certainly, — their  rate  of  travel 
was  very  slow.  Ellen  wondered  her  charioteer  did  not  make  his 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


95 


animals  go  faster;  but  she  soon  forgot  their  lazy  progress  in  the 
interest  of  novel  sights  and  new  scenes. 

Slowly,  very  slowly,  the  good  oxen  drew  the  cart  and  the  little 
queen  in  the  arm-chair  out  of  the  town,  and  they  entered  upon  the 
open  country.  The  sun  had  already  gone  down  when  they  left 
the  inn,  and  the  glow  of  his  setting  had  faded  a  good  deal  by  the 
time  they  got  quite  out  of  the  town;  but  light  enough  was  left 
still  to  delight  Ellen  with  the  pleasant  look  of  the  country.  It 
was  a  lovely  evening,  and  quiet  as  summer ;  not  a  breath  stirring. 
The  leaves  were  all  off  the  trees ;  the  hills  were  brown ;  but  the 
soft  warm  light  that  still  lingered  upon  them  forbade  any  look  of 
harshness  or  dreariness.  These  hills  lay  toward  the  west,  and  at 


Thirlwall  were  not  more  than  two  miles  distant,  but  sloping  off 
more  to  the  west  as  the  range  extended  in  a  southerly  direction. 
Between,  the  ground  was  beautifully  broken.  Eich  fields  and 
meadows  lay  on  all  sides,  sometimes  level,  and  sometimes  with  a 
soft  wavy  surface,  where  Ellen  thought  it  must  be  charming  to 
run  up  and  down.  Every  now  and  then  these  were  varied  by  a 
little  rising  ground  capped  with  a  piece  of  woodland ;  and  beauti 
ful  trees,  many  of  them,  were  seen  standing  alone,  especially  by 
the  road-side.  All  had  a  cheerful,  pleasant  look.  The  houses 
were  ^ very  scattered;  in  the  whole  way  they  passed  but  few. 
Ellen's  heart  regularly  began  to  beat  when  they  came  in  sight  of 
one,  and  "  I  wonder  if  that  is  aunt  Fortune's  house  !" — "  perhaps 


96  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

it  is  !" — or,  "  I  hope  it  is  not !"  were  the  thoughts  that  rose  in  her 
mind.  But  slowly  the  oxen  brought  her  abreast  of  the  houses, 
one  after  another,  and  slowly  they  passed  on  beyond,  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  getting  home  yet.  Their  way  was  through  pleas 
ant  lanes  toward  the  south,  but  constantly  approaching  the  hills. 
About  half  a  mile  from  Thirlwall,  they  crossed  a  little  river,  not 
more  than  thirty  yards  broad,  and  after  that  the  twilight  deepened 
fast.  The  shades  gathered  on  field  and  hill:  every  thing  grew 
brown,  and  then  dusky ;  and  then  Ellen  was  obliged  to  content 
herself  with  what  was  very  near,  for  further  than  that  she  could 
only  see  dim  outlines.  She  began  again  to  think  of  their  slow  trav 
elling,  and  to  wonder  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  could  be  content  with 
it.  She  wondered  too  what  made  him  walk,  when  he  might  just 
as  well  have  sat  in  the  cart ;  the  truth  was  he  had  chosen  that  for 
the  very  purpose  that  he  might  have  a  good  look  at  the  little  queen 
in  the  arm-chair.  Apparently,  however,  he  too  now  thought  it 
might  be  as  well  to  make  a  little  haste,  for  he  thundered  out  some 
orders  to  his  oxen,  accompanied  with  two  or  three  strokes  of  his 
heavy  lash,  which,  though  not  cruel  by  any  means,  went  to  Ellen's 
heart. 

"  Them  lazy  critters  won't  go  fast  anyhow,"  said  he  to  Ellen, — 
"  they  will  take  their  own  time ;  it  ain't  no  use  to  cut  them." 

"  Oh,  no  !  pray  don't,  if  you  please  !"  said  Ellen,  in  a  voice  of 
earnest  entreaty. 

"'Tain't  fair  neither,"  continued  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  lashing  his 
great  whip  from  side  to  side  without  touching  any  thing.  "  I  have 
seen  critters  that  would  take  any  quantity  of  whipping  to  make 
them  go,  but  them  'ere  ain't  of  that  kind ;  they'll  work  as  long  as 
they  can  stand,  poor  fellows  !" 

There  was  a  little  silence,  during  which  Ellen  eyed  her  rough 
charioteer,  not  knowing  exactly  what  to  make  of  him. 

"I  guess  this  is  the  first  time  you  ever  rid  in  an  ox-cart,  ain't 
it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  never  saw  one  before." 

"Ha' n't  you  never  seen  an  ox-cart!  Well — how  do  you  like 
it?" 

"  I  like  it  very  much  indeed.  Have  we  much  farther  to  go  be 
fore  we  get  to  aunt  Fortune's  house?" 

"  '  Aunt  Fortune's  house  !'  a  pretty  good  bit  yet.  You  see  that 
mountain  over  there  ?" — pointing  with  his  whip  to  a  hill  directly 
west  of  them,  and  about  a  mile  distant. 

"Yes,"  said  Ellen. 

"  That's  the  Nose.  Then  you  see  that  other?" — pointing  to  one 
that  lay  some  two  miles  further  south  ; — "  Miss  Fortune's  house  is 
just  this  side  of  that ;  it's  all  of  two  miles  from  here." 

And  urged  by  this  recollection,  he  again  scolded  and  cheered  the 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  97 

patient  oxen,  who  for  the  most  part  kept  on  their  steady  way  with 
out  any  reminder.  But  perhaps  it  was  for  Ellen's  sake  that  he 
scarcely  touched  them  with  the  whip. 

"  That  don't  hurt  them,  not  a  bit,"  he  remarked  to  Ellen, — "  it 
only  lets  them  know  that  I'm  here,  and  they  must  mind  their  busi 
ness.  So  you're  Miss  Fortune's  niece,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  with  a  desperate  attempt  at  being 
complimentary,  "  I  shouldn't  care  if  you  was  mine  too." 

Ellen  was  somewhat  astounded,  and  so  utterly  unable  to  echo 
the  wish,  that  she  said  nothing.  She  did  not  know  it,  but  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  had  made,  for  him,  most  extraordinary  efforts  at  sociability. 
Having  quite  exhausted  himself,  he  now  mounted  into  the  cart 
and  sat  silent,  only  now  and  then  uttering  energetic  "  Gee's  !"  and 
"Haw's!"  which  greatly  excited  Ellen's  wonderment.  She  dis 
covered  they  were  meant  for  the  ears  of  the  oxen,  but  more  than 
that  she  could  not  make  out. 

They  plodded  along  very  slowly,  and  the  evening  fell  fast.  As 
they  left  behind  the  hill  which  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  called  "  the 
Nose,"  they  could  see,  through  an  opening  in  the  mountains,  a  bit 
of  the  western  horizon,  and  some  brightness  still  lingering  there ; 
but  it  was  soon  hid  from  view,  and  darkness  veiled  the  whole 
country.  Ellen  could  amuse  herself  no  longer  with  looking  about ; 
she  could  see  nothing  very  clearly  but  the  outline  of  Mr.  Van 
Brunt's  broad  back,  just  before  her.  But  the  stars  had  come  out ! 
— and,  brilliant  and  clear,  they  were  looking  down  upon  her  with 
their  thousand  eyes.  Ellen's  heart  jumped  when  she  saw  them 
with  a  mixed  feeling  of  pleasure  and  sadness.  They  carried  her 
right  back  to  the  last  evening  when  she  was  walking  up  the  hill 
with  Timmins ;  she  remembered  her  anger  against  Mrs.  Duns- 
combe,  and  her  kind  friend's  warning  not  to  indulge  it,  and  all  his 
teaching  that  day ;  and  tears  came  with  the  thought,  how  glad  she 
should  be  to  hear  him  speak  to  her  again.  Still  looking  up  at  the 
beautiful  quiet  stars,  she  thought  of  her  dear  far-off  mother, — how 
long  it  was  already  since  she  had  seen  her  ; — faster  and  faster  the 
tears  dropped ; — and  then  she  thought  of  that  glorious  One  who 
had  made  the  stars,  and  was  above  them  all,  and  who  could  and 
did  see  her  mother  and  her,  though  ever  so  far  apart,  and  could 
hear  and  bless  them  both.  The  little  face  was  no  longer  upturned 
— it  was  buried  in  her  hands,  and  bowed  to  her  lap,  and  tears 
streamed  as  she  prayed  that  God  would  bless  her  dear  mother  and 
take  care  of  her.  Not  once  nor  twice ; — the  fulness  of  Ellen's 
heart  could  not  be  poured  out  in  one  asking.  Greatly  comforted 
at  last,  at  having  as  it  were  laid  over  the  care  of  her  mother  upon 
One  who  was  able,  she  thought  of  herself,  and  her  late  resolution 
to  serve  him.  She  was  in  the  same  mind  still.  She  could  not  call 


98  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

herself  a  Christian  yet,  but  she  was  resolved  to  be  one ;  and  she 
earnestly  asked  the  Saviour  she  sought,  to  make  her  and  keep  her 
his  child.  And  then  Ellen  felt  happy. 

Quiet,  and  weariness,  and  even  drowsiness  succeeded.  It  was 
well  the  night  was  still,  for  it  had  grown  quite  cool,  and  a  breeze 
would  have  gone  through  and  through  Ellen's  nankeen  coat.  As 
it  was  she  began  to  be  chilly,  when  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  who  since  he 
got  into  the  cart  had  made  no  remarks  except  to  his  oxen,  turned 
round  a  little  and  spoke  to  her  again. 

"It's  only  a  little  bit  of  way  we've  got  to  go  now,"  said  he; 
"  we're  turning  the  corner.' 

The  words  seemed  to  shoot  through  Ellen's  heart.  She  was 
wide  awake  instantly,  and  quite  warm;  and  leaning  forward  in  her 
little  chair,  she  strove  to  pierce  the  darkness  on  either  hand  of  her, 
to  see  whereabouts  the  house  stood,  and  how  things  looked.  She 
could  discern  nothing  but  misty  shadows,  and  outlines  of  she  could 
not  tell  what,  the  starlight  was  too  dim  to  reveal  any  thing  to  a 
stranger. 

"  There's  the  house,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  after  a  few  minutes 
more, — «  do  you  see  it  yonder?" 

Ellen  strained  her  eyes,  but  could  make  out  nothing, — not  even 
a  glimpse  of  white.  She  sat  back  in  her  chair,  her  heart  beating 
violently.  Presently  Mr.  Van  Brunt  jumped  down  and  opened  a 
gate  at  the  side  of  the  road ;  and  with  a  great  deal  of  "  gee" -ing 
the  oxen  turned  to  the  right,  and  drew  the  cart  a  little  way  up  hill, 
then  stopped  on  what  seemed  level  ground. 

"  Here  we  are  !"  cried  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as  he  threw  his  whip  on 
the  ground, — "  and  late  enough  !  You  must  be  tired  of  that  little 
arm-cheer  by  this  time.  Come  to  the  side  of  the  cart  and  I'll  lift 
you  down." 

Poor  Ellen  !  There  was  no  help  for  it.  She  came  to  the  side 
of  the  cart,  and  taking  her  in  his  arms  her  rough  charioteer  set 
her  very  gently  and  carefully  on  the  ground. 

"  There  !"  said  he,  "  now  you  can  run  right  in  ;  do  you  see  that 
little  gate?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  can't  see  any  thing." 

"  Well,  come  here,"  said  he,  "  and  I'll  show  you.  Here— you're 
running  agin  the  fence — this  way  I" 

And  he  opened  a  little  wicket,  which  Ellen  managed  to  stumble 
through. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "go  straight  up  to  that  door  yonder,  and  open 
it,  and  you'll  see  where  to  go.  Don't  knock,  but  just  pull  the 
latch  and  go  in." 

And  he  went  off  to  his  oxen.  Ellen  at  first  saw  no  door,  and 
did  not  even  know  where  to  look  for  it ;  by  degrees,  as  her  head 
became  clearer,  the  large  dark  shadow  of  the  house  stood  before 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  99 

her,  and  a  little  glimmering  line  of  a  path  seemed  to  lead  onward 
from  where  she  stood.  With  unsteady  steps,  Ellen  pursued  it  till 
her  foot  struck  against  the  stone  before  the  door.  Her  trembling 
fingers  found  the  latch — lifted  it — and  she  entered.  All  was  dark 
there  ;  but  at  the  right  a  window  showed  light  glimmering  within. 
Ellen  made  toward  it,  and  groping,  came  to  another  door-latch. 
This  was  big  and  clumsy  ;  however,  she  managed  it,  and  pushing 
open  the  heavy  door,  went  in. 

It  was  a  good-sized,  cheerful-looking  kitchen.  A  fine  fire  was 
burning  in  the  enormous  fireplace  ;  the  white  walls  and  ceiling 
were  yellow  in  the  light  of  the  flame.  No  candles  were  needed, 
and  none  were  there.  The  supper  table  was  set,  and  with  its  snow- 
white  table-cloth  and  shining  furniture,  looked  very  comfortable 
indeed.  But  the  only  person  there  was  an  old  woman,  sitting  by 
the  side  of  the  fire,  with  her  back  toward  Ellen.  She  seemed  to 
be  knitting,  but  did  not  move  nor  look  round.  Ellen  had  come  a 
step  or  two  into  the  room,  and  there  she  stood,  unable  to  speak  or 
to  go  any  farther.  "Can  that  be  aunt  Fortune?"  she  thought; 
"  she  can't  be  as  old  as  that?" 

In  another  minute  a  door  opened  at  her  right,  just  behind  the 
old  woman's  back,  and  a  second  figure  appeared  at  the  top  of  a 
flight  of  stairs  which  led  down  from  the  kitchen.  She  came  in, 
shutting  the  door  behind  her  with  her  foot;  and 'indeed  both  hands 
were  full,  one  holding  a  lamp  and  a  knife,  and  the  other  a  plate  of 
butter.  The  sight  of  Ellen  stopped  her  short. 

"  What  is  this? — and  what  do  you  leave  the  door  open  for, 
child?"  she  said. 

She  advanced  toward  it,  plate  and  lamp  in  hand,  and  setting  her 
back  against  the  door,  shut  it  vigorously. 

"Who  are  you? — and  what's  wanting?" 

"I  am  Ellen  Montgomery,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  timidly. 

"  What?'1  said  the  lady,  with  some  emphasis 

"Didn't  you  expect  me,  ma'am?"  said  Ellen;  "papa  said  he 
would  write." 

"Why,  is  this  Ellen  Montgomery?"  said  Miss  Fortune,  ap 
parently  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  it  must  be. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen. 

Miss  Fortune  went  to  the  table  and  put  the  butter  and  the  lamp 
in  their  places. 

"  Did  you  say  your  father  wrote  to  tell  me  of  your  coming?" 

"  He  said  he  would,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen. 

"  He  didn't !  Never  sent  me  a  line.  Just  like  him  !  I  never 
yet  knew  Morgan  Montgomery  do  a  thing  when  he  promised  he 
would." 

Ellen's  face  flushed,  and  her  heart  swelled.  She  stood  motion 
less. 


100  THE   WIDE,    WIDE  WORLD. 

11  How  did  you  get  down  here  to-night?" 

"  I  came  in  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  ox-cart,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  ox-cart!  Then  he's  got  home,  has  he?" 
And  hearing  this  instant  a  noise  outside,  Miss  Fortune  swept  to 
the  door,  saying,  as  she  opened  it,  "Sit  down,  child,  and  take  off 
your  things." 

The  first  command,  at  least,  Ellen  obeyed  gladly ;  she  did  not 
feel  enough  at  home  to  comply  with  the  second.  She  only  took 
off  her  bonnet. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Miss  Fortune  at  the  door,  "have 
you  brought  me  a  barrel  of  flour?" 

"No,  Miss  Fortune,"  said  the  voice  of  Ellen's  charioteer,  "I've 
brought  you  something  better  than  that." 

"Where  did  you  find  her?"  said  Miss  Fortune,  something 
shortly. 

"  Up  at  Forbes's." 

"  What  have  you  got  there  ?" 

"  A  trunk.     Where  is  it  to  go  ?" 

"  A  trunk !  Bless  me  !  it  must  go  up  stairs ;  but  how  it  is  ever 
to  get  there,  I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  I'll  find  a  way  to  get  it  there,  I'll  engage,  if  you'll  be  so  good 
as  to  open  the  door  for  me,  ma'am." 

"Indeed  you  won't!  That'll  never  do!  With  your  shoes!" 
said  Miss  Fortune,  in  a  tone  of  indignant  house  wifery. 

«  Well — without  my  shoes,  then,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  with  a 
half  giggle,  as  Ellen  heard  the  shoes  kicked  off.  "  Now,  ma'am, 
out  of  my  way  !  give  me  a  road." 

Miss  Fortune  seized  the  lamp,  and  opening  another  door, 
ushered  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  the  trunk  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  up, 
Ellen  saw  not  whither.  In  a  minute  or  two  they  returned,  and  he 
of  the  ox-cart  went  out. 

"  Supper's  just  ready,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  the  mistress  of  the 
house. 

"  Can't  stay,  ma'am  ; — it's  so  late ;  must  hurry  home."  And  he 
closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"What  made  you  so  late?"  asked  Miss  Fortune  of  Ellen. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am — I  believe  Mr.  Van  Brunt  said  the 
blacksmith  had  kept  him." 

Miss  Fortune  bustled  about  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  setting 
some  things  on  the  table  and  filling  the  tea-pot. 

"  Come,"  she  said  to  Ellen,  "  take  off  your  coat  and  come  to  the 
table.  You  must  be  hungry  by  this  time.  It's  a  good  while  since 
you  had  your  dinner,  ain't  it?  Come,  mother." 

The  old  lady  rose,  and  Miss  Fortune,  taking  her  chair,  set  it  by 
the  side  of  the  table  next  the  fire.  Ellen  was  opposite  to  her,  and 
now  for  the  first  time,  the  old  lady  seemed  to  know  that  she  was  in 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  101 

the  room.  She  looked  at  her  very  attentively,  but  with  an  ex 
pressionless  gaze  which  Ellen  did  not  like  to  meet,  though  other 
wise  her  face  was  calm  and  pleasant. 

"Who  is  that?"  inquired  the  old  lady  presently  of  Miss  For 
tune,  in  a  half  whisper. 

"That's  Morgan's  daughter,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Morgan's  daughter  !     Has  Morgan  a  daughter  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  mother;  don't  you  remember  I  told  you  a  month 
ago  he  was  going  to  send  her  here  ?" 

The  old  lady  turned  again  with  a  half  shake  of  her  head  toward 
Ellen.  "  Morgan's  daughter,"  she  repeated  to  herself  softly, 
"  she's  a  pretty  little  girl, — very  pretty.  Will  you  come  round 
here  and  give  me  a  kiss,  dear?" 

Ellen  submitted.  The  old  lady  folded  her  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  her  affectionately.  "  That's  your  grandmother,  Ellen,"  said 
Miss  Fortune,  as  Ellen  went  back  to  her  seat. 

Ellen  had  no  words  to  answer.  Her  aunt  saw  her  weary,  down 
look,  and  soon  after  supper  proposed  to  take  her  up  stairs.  Ellen 
gladly  followed  her.  Miss  Fortune  showed  her  to  her  room,  and 
first  asking  if  she  wanted  any  thing,  left  her  to  herself.  It  was  a 
relief.  Ellen's  heart  had  been  brimful  and  ready  to  run  over  for 
some  time,  but  the  tears  could  not  come  then.  They  did  not  now, 
till  she  had  undressed  and  laid  her  weary  little  body  on  the  bed ; 
then  they  broke  forth  in  an  agony.  "  She  did  not  kiss  me !  she 
didn't  say  she  was  glad  to  see  me !"  thought  poor  Ellen.  But 
weariness  this  time  was  too  much  for  sorrow  and  disappointment. 
It  was  but  a  few  minutes,  and  Ellen's  brow  was  calm  again,  and 
her  eyelids  still,  and  with  the  tears  wet  upon  her  cheeks,  she  was 
fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Nimble  mischance,  that  com'st  so  swift  of  foot ! 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  morning  sun  was  shining  full  and  strong  in  Ellen's  eyes 
when  she  awoke.  Bewildered  at  the  strangeness  of  every  thing 
around  her,  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  took  a  long  look 
at  her  new  home.  It  could  not  help  but  seem  cheerful.  The 
bright  beams  of  sunlight  streaming  in  through  the  windows  lighted 
on  the  wall  and  the  old  wainscoting,  and  paintless  and  rough  as 
they  were,  nature's  own  gilding  more  than  made  amends  for  their 
want  of  comeliness.  Still  Ellen  was  not  much  pleased  with  the 
result  of  her  survey.  The  room  was  good-sized,  and  perfectly  neat 

9* 


102  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

and  clean ;  it  had  two  large  windows  opening  to  the  east,  through 
which,  morning  by  morning,  the  sun  looked  in — that  was  another 
blessing.  But  the  floor  was  without  the  sign  of  a  carpet,  and  the 
bare  boards  looked  to  Ellen  very  comfortless.  The  hard-finished 
walls  were  not  very  smooth  nor  particularly  white.  The  doors  and 
wood-work,  though  very  neat,  and  even  carved  with  some  attempt 
at  ornament,  had  never  known  the  touch  of  paint,  and  had  grown 
in  the  course  of  years  to  be  of  a  light-brown  colour.  The  room 
was  very  bare  of  furniture  too.  A  dressing-table,  pier-table,  or 
whatnot,  stood  between  the  windows,  but  it  was  only  a  half-circular 
top  of  pine  board  set  upon  three  very  long,  bare-looking  legs — 
altogether  of  a  most  awkward  and  unhappy  appearance,  Ellen 
thought,  and  quite  too  high  for  her  to  use  with  any  comfort.  No 
glass  hung  over  it,  nor  anywhere  else.  On  the  north  side  of  the 
room  was  a  fireplace ;  against  the  opposite  wall  stood  Ellen's  trunk 
and  two  chairs ; — that  was  all,  except  the  cot  bed  she  was  lying 
on,  and  which  had  its  place  opposite  the  windows.  The  coverlid 
of  that  came  in  for  a  share  of  her  displeasure,  being  of  home 
made  white  and  blue  worsted  mixed  with  cotton,  exceeding  thick 
and  heavy. 

"I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  blanket  is  under  it,"  said  Ellen,  "  if 
I  can  ever  get  it  off  to  see  ! — pretty  good ;  but  the  sheets  are  cot 
ton,  and  so  is  the  pillow-case  !" 

She  was  still  leaning  on  her  elbow,  looking  around  her  with  a 
rather  discontented  face,  when  some  door  being  opened  down  stairs, 
a  great  noise  of  hissing  and  sputtering  came  to  her  ears,  and  pres 
ently  after  there  stole  to  her  nostrils  a  steaming  odour  of  something 
very  savoury  from  the  kitchen.  It  said  as  plainly  as  any  dressing- 
bell  that  she  had  better  get  up.  So  up  she  jumped,  and  set  about 
the  business  of  dressing  with  great  alacrity.  Where  was  the  dis 
tress  of  last  night?  Gone — with  the  darkness.  She  had  slept 
well;  the  bracing  atmosphere  had  restored  strength  and  spirits; 
and  the  bright  morning  light  made  it  impossible  to  be  dull  or  down 
hearted,  in  spite  of  the  new  cause  she  thought  she  had  found.  She 
went  on  quick  with  the  business  of  the  toilet ;  but  when  it  came 
to  the  washing,  she  suddenly  discovered  that  there  were  no  con 
veniences  for  it  in  her  room — no  sign  of  pitcher  or  basin,  or  stand 
to  hold  them.  Ellen  was  slightly  dismayed  ;  but  presently  recol 
lected  her  arrival  had  not  been  looked  for  so  soon,  and  probably 
the  preparations  for  it  had  not  been  completed.  So  she  finished 
dressing,  and  then  set  out  to*  find  her  way  to  the  kitchen.  On 
opening  the  door,  there  was  a  little  landing-place  from  which  the 
stairs  descended  just  in  front  of  her,  and  at  the  left  hand  another 
door,  which  she  supposed  must  lead  to  her  aunt's  room.  At  the 
foot  of  the  stairs  Ellen  found  herself  in  a  large  square  room  or 
hall,  for  one  of  its  doors,  on  the  east,  opened  to  the  outer  air,  and 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  103 

was  in  fact  the  front  door  of  the  house.  Another  Ellen  tried  on 
the  south  side ;  it  would  not  open.  A  third,  under  the  stairs,  ad 
mitted  her  to  the  kitchen. 

The  noise  of  hissing  and  sputtering  now  became  quite  violent, 
and  the  smell  of  the  cooking,  to  Ellen's  fancy,  rather  too  strong  to 
be  pleasant.  Before  a  good  fire  stood  Miss  Fortune,  holding  the 
end  of  a  very  long  iron  handle  by  which  she  was  kept  in  commu 
nication  with  a  flat  vessel  sitting  on  the  fire,  in  which  Ellen  soon 
discovered  all  this  noisy  and  odorous  cooking  was  going  on.  A  tall 
tin  coffee-pot  stood  on  some  coals  in  the  corner  of  the  fireplace,  and 
another  little  iron  vessel  in  front  also  claimed  a  share  of  Miss  For 
tune's  attention,  for  she  every  now  and  then  leaned  forward  to  give 
a  stir  to  whatever  was  in  it,  making  each  time  quite  a  spasmodic 
effort  to  do  so  without  quitting  her  hold  of  the  end  of  the  long 
handle.  Ellen  drew  near  and  looked  on  with  great  curiosity,  and 
not  a  little  appetite ;  but  Miss  Fortune  was  far  too  busy  to  give  her 
more  than  a  passing  glance.  At  length  the  hissing  pan  was  brought 
to  the  hearth  for  some  new  arrangement  of  its  contents,  and  Ellen 
seized  the  moment  of  peace  and  quiet  to  say,  "Good-morning, 
aunt  Fortune." 

Miss  Fortune  was  crouching  by  the  pan  turning  her  slices  of 
pork.  "How  do  you  do  this  morning?"  she  answered,  without 
looking  up. 

Ellen  replied  she  felt  a  great  deal  better. 

"  Slept  warm,  did  you?"  said  Miss  Fortune,  as  she  set  the  pan 
back  on  the  fire.  And  Ellen  could  hardly  answer.  "  Quite  warm, 
ma'am,"  when  the  hissing  and  sputtering  began  again  as  loud 
as  ever. 

" I  must  wait,"  thought  Ellen,  "till  this  is  over  before  I  say 
what  I  want  to.  I  can't  scream  out  to  ask  for  a  basin  and  towel." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  pan  was  removed  from  the  fire,  and  Miss 
Fortune  went  on  to  take  out  tire  brown  slices  of  nicely-fried  pork 
and  arrange  them  in  a  deep  dish,  leaving  a  small  quantity  of  clear 
fat  in  the  pan.  Ellen,  who  was  greatly  interested,  and  observing 
every  step  most  attentively,  settled  in  her  own  mind  that  certainly 
this  would  be  thrown  away,  being  fit  for  nothing  but  the  pigs. 
But  Miss  Fortune  didn't  think  so,  for  she  darted  into  some  pantry 
close  by,  and  returning  with  a  cup  of  cream  in  her  hand  emptied 
it  all  into  the  pork  fat.  Then  she  ran  into  the  pantry  again  for  a 
little  round  tin  box,  with  a  cover  full  of  holes,  and  shaking  this 
gently  over  the  pan,  a  fine  white  shower  of  flour  fell  upon  the 
cream.  The  pan  was  then  replaced  on  the  fire  and  stirred ;  and  to 
Ellen's  astonishment  the  whole  changed,  as  if  by  magic,  to  a 
thick,  stiff,  white  froth.  It  was  not  till  Miss  Fortune  was  care 
fully  pouring  this  over  the  fried  slices  in  the  dish,  that  Ellen  sud 
denly  recollected  that  breakfast  was  ready,  and  she  was  not. 


104 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


"Aunt  Fortune,"  she  said  timidly,  "  I  haven't  washed  yet, — 
there's  no  basin  in  my  room." 

Miss  Fortune  made  no  answer  nor  gave  any  sign  of  hearing;  she 
went  on  dishing  up  breakfast.  Ellen  waited  a  few  minutes. 

"  Will  you  please,  ma'am,  to  show  me  where  I  can  wash  myself." 


"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  suddenly  standing  erect,  you'll  have 
to  go  down  to  the  spout." 

"  The  spout,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,—"  what's  that?' 

"  You'll  know  it  when  you  see  it.  I  guess,"  answered  her  aunt, 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  105 

again  stooping  over  her  preparations.  But  in  another  moment  she 
arose  and  said,  "  Just  open  that  door  there  behind  you,  and  go 
down  the  stairs  and  out  at  the  door,  and  you'll  see  where  it  is,  and 
what  it  is  too." 

Ellen  still  lingered.  "  Would  you  be  so  good  as  to  give  me  a 
towel,  ma'am,"  she  said  timidly. 

Miss  Fortune  dashed  past  her  and  out  of  another  door,  whence 
she  presently  returned  with  a  clean  towel  which  she  threw  over 
Ellen's  arm,  and  then  went  back  to  her  work. 

Opening  the  door  by  which  she  had  first  seen  her  aunt  enter  the 
night  before,  Ellen  went  down  a  steep  flight  of  steps,  and  found 
herself  in  a  lower  kitchen,  intended  for  common  purposes.  It 
seemed  not  to  be  used  at  all,  at  least  there  was  no  fire  there,  and  a 
cellar-like  feeling  and  smell  instead.  That  was  no  wonder,  for  'be 
yond  the  fireplace  on  the  left  hand  was  the  opening  to  the  cellar, 
which  running  under  the  other  part  of  the  house,  was  on  a  level 
with  this  kitchen.  It  had  no  furniture  but  a  table  and  two  chairs. 
The  thick  heavy  door  stood  open.  Passing  out,  Ellen  looked 
around  her  for  water, — in  what  shape  or  form  it  was  to  present 
itself  she  had  no  very  clear  idea.  She  soon  spied,  a  few  yards 
distant  a  little  stream  of  water  pouring  from  the  end  of  a  pipe  or 
trough  raised  about  a  foot  and  a  half  from  the  ground,  and  a  well- 
worn  path  leading  to  it,  left  no  doubt  of  its  being  "  the  spout." 
But  when  she  had  reached  it  Ellen  was  in  no  small  puzzle  as  to 
how  she  should  manage.  The  water  was  clear  and  bright,  and 
poured  very  fast  into  a  shallow  wooden  trough  underneath,  whence 
it  ran  off  into  the  meadow  and  disappeared. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  without  a  basin,"  thought  Ellen,  "  I  can't 
catch  any  water  in  my  hands,  it  runs  too  fast.  If  I  only  could 
get  my  face  under  there — that  would  be  fine  !" 

Very  carefully  and  cautiously  she  tried  it,  but  the  continual 
spattering  of  the  water  had  made  the  boafd  on  which  she  stood  so 
slippery  that  before  her  face  could  reach  the  stream  she  came  very 
near  tumbling  headlong,  and  so  taking  more  of  a  cold  bath  than  she 
wished  for.  So  she  contented  herself  with  the  drops  her  hands 
could  bring  to  her  face, — a  scanty  supply ;  but  those  drops  were 
deliciously  cold  and  fresh.  And  afterwards  she  pleased  herself  with 
holding  her  hands  in  the  running  water,  till  they  were  red  with  the 
cold.  On  the  whole  Ellen  enjoyed  her  washing  very  much.  The 
morning  air  came  playing  about  her ;  its  cool  breath  was  on  her 
cheek  with  health  in  its  touch.  The  early  sun  was  shining  on  tree 
and  meadow  and  hill ;  the  long  shadows  stretched  over  the  grass, 
and  the  very  brown  outhouses,  looked  bright.  She  thought  it  was 
the  loveliest  place  she  ever  had  seen.  And  that  sparkling  trickling 
water  was  certainly  the  purest  and  sweetest  she  had  ever  tasted. 
Where  could  it  come  from  ?  It  poured  from  a  small  trough  made 


106  THE    WIDE,    WTDE    WORLD. 

of  the  split  trunk  of  a  tree  with  a  little  groove  or  channel  two  inches 
wide  hollowed  out  in  it.  But  at  the  end  of  one  of  these  troughs,  another 
lapped  on,  and  another  at  the  end  of  that,  and  how  many  there 
were  Ellen,  could  not  see,  nor  where  the  beginning  of  them  was. 
Ellen  stood  gazing  and  wondering,  drinking  in  the  fresh  air,  hope 
and  spirits  rising  every  minute,  when  she  suddenly  recollected 
breakfast !  She  hurried  in.  As  she  expected,  her  aunt  was  at  the 
table  ;  but  to  her  surprise,  and  not  at  all  to  her  gratification,  there 
was  Mr.  Van  Brunt  at  the  other  end  of  it,  eating  away,  very  much 
at  home  indeed.  In  silent  dismay  Ellen  drew  her  chair  to  the  side 
of  the  table. 

"  Did  you  find  the  spout?"  asked. Miss  Fortune. 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  how  do  you  like-  it?" 

"Oh,  I  like  it  very  much  indeed,"  said  Ellen.  "I  think  it  is 
beautiful." 

Miss  Fortune's  face  rather  softened  at  this,  and  she  gave  Ellen 
an  abundant  supply  of  all  that  was  on  the  table.  Her  journey,  the 
bracing  air,  and  her  cool  morning  wash,  altogether,  had  made  Ellen 
very  sharp,  and  she  did  justice  to  the  breakfast.  She  thought 
nevei  was  coffee  so  good  as  this  country  coffee ;  nor  any  thing  so 
excellent  as  the  brown  bread  and  butter,  both  as  sweet  as  bread  and 
butter  could  be  ;  neither  was  any  cookery  so  entirely  satisfactory  as 
Miss  Fortune's  fried  pork  and  potatoes.  Yet  her  tea-spoon  was  not 
silver ;  her  knife  could  not  boast  of  being  either  sharp  or  bright ; 
and  her  fork  was  certainly  made  for  any  thing  else  in  the  world  but 
comfort  and  convenience,  being  of  only  two  prongs,  and  those  so 
far  apart  that  Ellen  had  no  small  difficulty  to  carry  the  potato  safely 
from  her  plate  to  her  mouth.  It  mattered  nothing ;  she  was  now 
looking  on  the  bright  side  of  things,  and  all  this  only  made  her 
breakfast  taste  the  sweeter. 

Ellen  rose  from  the  table  when  she  had  finished,  and  stood  a  few 
minutes  thoughtfully  by  the  fire. 

"Aunt  Fortune,"  she  said  at  length  timidly,  "if  you've  no 
objection,  I  should  like  to  go  and  take  a  good  look  all  about." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "go  where  you  like;  I'll  give 
you  a  week  to  do  what  you  please  with  yourself." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  ran  off  for  her  bonnet; 
"  a  week's  a  long  time.  I  suppose,"  thought  she,  "  I  shall  go  to 
school  at  the  end  of  that." 

Returning  quickly  with  her  white  bonnet,  Ellen  opened  the  heavy 
kitchen  door  by  which  she  had  entered  last  night,  and  went  out. 
She  found  herself  in  a  kind  of  long  shed.  It  had  very  rough  walls 
and  floor,  and  overhead  showed  the  brown  beams  and  rafters ;  two 
little  windows  and  a  door  were  on  the  side.  All  manner  of  rubbish 
lay  there,  especially  at  the  farther  end.  There  was  scattered  about 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  107 

and  piled  up  various  boxes,  boards,  farming  and  garden  tools,  old 
pieces  of  rope  and  sheepskin,  old  iron,  a  cheese-press,  and  what  not. 
Ellen  did  not  stay  long  to  look,  but  went  out  to  find  something 
pleasanter.  A  few  yards  from  the  shed  door  was  the  little  gate 
through  which  she  had  stumbled  in  the  dark,  and  outside  of  that 
Ellen  stood  still  a  while.  It  was  a  fair,  pleasant  day,  and  the 
country  scene  she  looked  upon  was  very  pretty.  Ellen  thought  so. 
Before  her,  at  a  little  distance,  rose  the  great  gable  end  of  the  barn, 
and  a  long  row  of  outhouses  stretched  away  from  it  toward  the  left. 
The  ground  was  strewn  thick  with  chips ;  and  the  reason  was  not 
hard  to  find,  for  a  little  way  off,  under  an  old  stunted  apple-tree,  lay 
a  huge  log,  well  chipped  on  the  upper  surface,  with  the  axe  resting 
against  it ;  and  close  by  were  some  sticks  of  wood  both  chopped 
and  unchopped.  To  the  right  the  ground  descended  gently  to  a 
beautiful  plane  meadow,  skirted  on  the  hither  side  by  a  row  of  fine 
apple-trees.  The  smooth  green  flat  tempted  Ellen  to  a  run,  but  first 
she  looked  to  the  left.  There  was  the  garden,  she  guessed,  for 
there  was  a  paling  fence  which  enclosed  a  pretty  large  piece  of 
ground ;  and  between  the  garden  and  the  house  a  green  slope  ran 
down  to  the  spout.  That  reminded  her  that  she  intended  making 
a  journey  of  discovery  up  the  course  of  the  long  trough.  No  time 
could  be  better  than  now,  and  she  ran  down  the  slope. 

The  trough  was  supported  at  some  height  from  the  ground  by 
little  heaps  of  stones  placed  here  and  there  along  its  whole  course. 
Not  far  from  the  spout  it  crossed  a  fence.  Ellen  must  cross  it  too 
to  gain  her  object,  and  how  that  could  be  done  was  a  great  ques 
tion  ;  she  resolved  to  try,  however.  But  first  she  played  awhile 
with  the  water,  which  had  great  charms  for  her.  She  dammed  up 
the  little  channel  with  her  fingers,  forcing  the  water  to  flow  over 
the  side  of  the  trough ;  there  was  something  very  pleasant  in  stop 
ping  the  supply  of  the  spout,  and  seeing  the  water  trickling  over 
where  it  had  no  business  to  go ;  and  she  did  not  heed  that  some 
of  the  drops  took  her  frock  in  their  way.  She  stooped  her  lips  to 
the  trough  and  drank  of  its  sweet  current, — only  for  fun's  sake, 
for  she  was  not  thirsty.  Finally  she  set  out  to  follow  the  stream 
up  to  its  head.  But  poor  Ellen  had  not  gone  more  than  half  way 
toward  the  fence  when  she  all  at  once  plunged  into  the  mire.  The 
green  grass  growing  there  had  looked  fair  enough,  but  there  was 
running  water  and  black  mud  under  the  green  grass,  she  found  to 
her  sorrow.  Her  shoes,  her  stockings,  were  full.  What  was  to  be 
done,  now?  The  journey  of  discovery  must  be  given  up.  She 
forgot  to  think  about  where  the  water  came  from,  in  the  more 
pressing  question,  "  What  will  aunt  Fortune  say  ?" — and  the  quick 
wish  came  that  she  had  her  mother  to  go  to.  However,  she  got 
out  of  the  slough,  and  wiping  her  shoes  as  well  as  she  could  on  the 
grass,  she  hastened  back  to  the  house. 


108  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

The  kitchen  was  all  put  in  order,  the  hearth  swept,  the  irons  at 
the  fire,  and  Miss  Fortune  just  pinning  her  ironing  blanket  on  the 
table.  "Well, — what's  the  matter?"  she  said,  when  she  saw 
Ellen's  face;  but  as  her  glance  reached  the  floor,  her  brow  dark 
ened.  "  Mercy  on  me !"  she  exclaimed,  with  slow  emphasis, — 
"  what  on  earth  have  you  been  about?  where  have  you  been  ?" 

Ellen  explained. 

"  Well,  you  have  made  a  figure  of  yourself!  Sit  down  !"  said 
her  aunt,  shortly,  as  she  thrust  a  chair  down  on  the  hearth  before 
the  fire;  "I  should  have  thought  you'd  have  wit  enough  at  your 
age  to  keep  out  of  the  ditch." 

"I  didn't  see  any  ditch,"  said  Ellen. 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  who  was  energetically 
twitching  off  Ellen's  shoes  and  stockings  with  her  fore  finger  and 
thumb ;  "  I  suppose  not !  you  were  staring  up  at  the  moon  or  stars, 
I  suppose." 

"  It  all  looked  green  and  smooth,"  said  poor  Ellen  ;  "  one  part 
just  like  another;  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was  up  to  my 
ankles." 

"What  were  you  there  at  all  for?"  said  Miss  Fortune,  shortly 
enough. 

"I  couldn't  see  where  the  water  came  from,  and  I  wanted  to 
find  out." 

"  Well  you've  found  out  enough  for  one  day  I  hope.  Just  look 
at  those  stockings !  Ha'n't  you  got  never  a  pair  of  coloured  stock 
ings,  that  you  must  go  poking  into  the  mud  with  white  ones  ?' ' 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  never  wore  any  but  white  ones  at 
home?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  I  never  had  any  others." 

Miss  Fortune's  thoughts  seemed  too  much  for  speech,  from  the 
way  in  which  she  jumped  up  and  went  off  without  saying  any 
thing  more.  She  presently  came  back  with  an  old  pair  of  grey 
socks,  which  she  bade  Ellen  put  on  as  soon  as  her  feet  were  dry. 

"  How  many  of  those  white  stockings  have  you?"   she  said. 

"  Mamma  bought  me  half  a  dozen  pair  of  new  ones  just  before 
I  came  away,  and  I  had  as  many  as  that  of  old  ones  besides." 

"  Well,  now  go  up  to  your  trunk  and  bring  'em  all  down  to  me 
— every  pair  of  white  stockings  you  have  got.  There's  a  pair  of 
did  slippers  you  can  put  on  till  your  shoes  are  dry,"  she  said,  fling 
ing  them  to  her  ; — "  They  arn't  much  too  big  for  you." 

"  They're  not  much  too  big  for  the  socks — they're  a  great  deal  too 
big  for  me,"  thought  Ellen.  But  she  said  nothing.  She  gathered 
all  her  stockings  together  and  brought  them  down  stairs,  as  her 
aunt  had  bidden  her. 

"  Now  you  may  run  out  to  the  barn,  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — you'll 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  109 

find  him  there, — and  tell  him  I  want  him  to  bring  me  some  white 
maple  bark,  when  he  comes  home  to  dinner, — white  maple  bark, 
do  you  hear?" 

Away  went  Ellen,  but  in  a  few  minutes  came  back.  "  I  can't 
get  in,"  she  said. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"  Those  great  doors  are  shut,  and  I  can't  open  them.  I  knocked, 
but  nobody  came." 

"  Knock  at  a  barn  door !"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "  You  must  go  in 
at  the  little  cowhouse  door,  at  the  left,  and  go  round.  He's  in  the 
lower  barn-floor." 

The  barn  stood  lower  than  the  level  of  the  chip-yard,  from 
which  a  little  bridge  led  to  the  great  doorway  of  the  second  floor. 
Passing  down  the  range  of  outhouses,  Ellen  came  to  the  little  door 
her  aunt  had  spoken  of.  "  But  what  in  the  world  should  I  do  if 
there  should  be  cows  inside  there?"  said  she  to  herself.  She 
peeped  in; — the  cowhouse  was  perfectly  empty ;  and  cautiously, 
and  with  many  a  fearful  glance  to  the  right  and  left,  lest  some 
terrible  horned  animal  should  present  itself,  Ellen  made  her  way 
across  the  cowhouse,  and  through  the  barn-yard,  littered  thick  with 
straw  wet  and  dry,  to  the  lower  barn-floor.  The  door  of  this  stood 
wide  open.  Ellen  looked  with  wonder  and  pleasure  when  she  got 
in.  It  was  an  immense  room — the  sides  showed  nothing  but  hay 
up  to  the  ceiling,  except  here  and  there  an  enormous  upright  post ; 
the  floor  was  perfectly  clean,  only  a  few  locks  of  hay  and  grains 
of  wheat  scattered  upon  it ;  and  a  pleasant  sweet  smell  was  there, 
Ellen  could  not  tell  of  what.  But  no  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  She 
looked  about  for  him,  she  dragged  her  disagreeable  slippers  back 
and  forth  over  the  floor,  in  vain. 

"  Hilloa !  what's  wanting?"  at  length  cried  a  rough  voice  she 
remembered  very  well.  But  where  was  the  speaker  ?  On  every 
side,  to  every  corner,  her  eyes  turned  without  finding  him.  She 
looked  up  at  last.  There  was  the  round  face  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
peering  down  at  her  through  a  large  opening  or  trap-door,  in  the 
upper  floor. 

"  Well  !"•  said  he,  "  have  you  come  out  here  to  help  me  thrash 
wheat!" 

Ellen  told  him  what  she  had  come  for. 

"White  maple  bark, — well," — said  he,  in  his  slow  way,  "I'll 
bring  it.  I  wonder  what's  in  the  wind  now." 

So  Ellen  wondered,  as  she  slowly  went  back  to  the  house ;  and 
yet  more,  when  her  aunt  set  her  to  tacking  her  stockings  together 
"by  two  and  two. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them,  aunt  Fortune?"  she  at 
last  ventured  to  say. 

"  You'll  see,  — when  the  time  comes." 

10 


110  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Mayn't  I  keep  out  one  pair?"  said  Ellen,  who  had  a  vague 
notion  that  by  some  mysterious  means  her  stockings  were  to  be 
prevented  from  ever  looking  white  any  more. 

"  No  ; — just  do  as  I  tell  you." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  at  dinner-time  with  the  white  maple  bark. 
It  was  thrown  forthwith  into  a  brass  kettle  of  water  which  Miss 
Fortune  had  already  hung  over  the  fire.  Ellen  felt  sure  this  had 
something  to  do  with  her  stockings,  but  she  could  ask  no 
questions ;  and  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over  she  went  up  to  her 
room.  It  didn't  look  pleasant  now.  The  brown  wood-work  and 
rough  dingy  walls  had  lost  their  gilding.  The  sunshine  was  out 
of  it;  and  what  was  more,  the  sunshine  was  out  of  Ellen's  heart 
too.  She  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it,  but  there  was 
nothing  to  keep  it  open  ;  it  slid  down  again  as  soon  as  she  let  it  go. 
Baffled  and  sad,  she  stood  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  window-sill, 
looking  out  on  the  grass-plat  that  lay  before  the  door,  and  the  little 
gate  that  opened  on  the  lane,  and  the  smooth  meadow,  and  rich 
broken  country  beyond.  It  was  a  very  fair  and  pleasant  scene  in 
the  soft  sunlight  of  the  last  of  October ;  but  the  charm  of  it  was 
gone  for  Ellen  ;  it  was  dreary.  She  looked  without  caring  to 
look,  or  knowing  what  she  was  looking  at ;  she  felt  the  tears  rising 
to  her  eyes ;  and  sick  of  the  window,  turned  away.  Her  eye  fell 
on  her  trunk  ;  her  next  thought  was  of  her  desk  inside  of  it ;  and 
suddenly  her  heart  sprang  ; — "  I  will  write  to  mamma!"  No  sooner 
said  than  done.  The  trunk  was  quickly  open,  and  hasty  hands 
pulled  out  one  thing  after  another  till  the  desk  was  reached. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  ?"  thought  she, — "  there  isn't  a  sign  of  a 
table.  Oh,  what  a  place !  I'll  shut  my  trunk  and  put  it  on  that. 
But  here  are  all  these  things  to  put  back  first." 

They  were  eagerly  stowed  away ;  and  then  kneeling  by  the  side 
of  the  trunk,  with  loving  hands  Ellen  opened  her  desk.  A  sheet 
of  paper  was  drawn  from  her  store,  and  properly  placed  before  her ; 
the  pen  dipped  in  the  ink,  and  at  first  with  a  hurried,  then  with  a 
trembling  hand,  she  wrote,  "  My  dear  Mamma."  But  Ellen's 
heart  had  been  swelling  and  swelling,  with  every  letter  of  those 
three  words,  and  scarcely  was  the  last  "  a"  finished,  when  the  pen 
was  dashed  down,  and  flinging  away  from  the  desk,  she  threw  her 
self  on  the  floor  in  a  passion  of  grief.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had 
her  mother  again  in  her  arms,  and  was  clinging  with  a  death-grasp 
not  to  be  parted  from  her.  And  then  the  feeling  that  she  was 
parted  ! — As  much  bitter  sorrow  as  a  little  heart  can  know  was  in 
poor  Ellen's  now.  In  her  childish  despair  she  wished  she  could 
die,  and  almost  thought  she  should.  After  a  time,  however,  though 
not  a  short  time,  she  rose  from  the  floor  and  went  to  her  writing 
again ;  her  heart  a  little  eased  by  weeping,  yet  the  tears  kept 
coming  all  the  time,  and  she  could  not  quite  keep  her  paper  from 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  Ill 

being  blotted.     The  first  sheet  was  spoiled  before  she  was  aware  ; 
she  took  another. 

"  MY  DEAREST  MAMMA, 

"  It  makes  me  so  glad  and  so  sorry  to  write  to  you,  that  I  don't 
know  what  to  do.  I  want  to  see  you  so  much,  mamma,  that  it 
seems  to  me  sometimes  as  if  my  heart  would  break.  Oh,  mamma, 
if  I  could  just  kiss  you  once  more,  I  would  give  any  thing  in  the 
whole  world.  I  can't  be  happy  as  long  as  you  are  away,  and  I  am 
afraid  I  can't  be  good  either ;  but  I  will  try.  Oh,  I  will  try, 
mamma.  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you  that  I  don't  know  where 
to  begin.  I  am  sure  my  paper  will  never  hold  it  all.  You  will 
want  to  know  about  my  journey.  The  first  day  was  on  the  steam 
boat,  you  know.  I  should  have  had  a  dreadful  time  that  day, 
mamma,  but  for  something  I'll  tell  you  about.  I  was  sitting  up  on 
the  upper  deck,  thinking  about  you,  and  feeling  very  badly  indeed, 
when  a  gentleman  came  and  spoke  to  me,  and  asked  me  what  was 
the  matter.  Mamma,  I  can't  tell  you  how  kind  he  was  to  me.  He 
kept  me  with  him  the  whole  day.  He  took  me  all  over  the  boat, 
and  showed  me  all  about  a  great  many  things,  and  he  talked  to  me 
a  great  deal.  Oh,  mamma,  how  he  talked  to  me.  He  read  in  the 
Bible  to  me,  and  explained  it,  and  he  tried  to  make  me  a  Christian. 
And  oh,  mamma,  when  he  was  talking  to  me,  how  I  wanted  to  do 
as  he  said,  and  I  resolved  I  would.  I  did,  mamma,  and  I  have  not 
forgotten  it.  I  will  try  indeed,  but  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  very 
hard  without  you  or  him,  or  any  body  else  to  help  me.  You 
couldn't  have  been  kinder  yourself,  mamma  ;  he  kissed  me  at  night 
when  I  bid  him  good-by,  and  I  was  very  sorry  indeed.  I  wish  I 
could  see  him  again.  Mamma,  I  will  always  love  that  gentleman 
if  I  never  see  him  again  in  the  world.  I  wish  there  was  some 
body  here  that  I  could  love,  but  there  is  not.  You  will  want  to 
know  what  sort  of  a  person  my  aunt  Fortune  is.  I  think  she  is 
very  good  looking,  or  she  would  be  if  her  nose  was  not  quite  so 
sharp  :  but,  mamma,  I  can't  tell  you  what  sort  of  a  feeling  I  have 
about  her ;  it  seems  to  me  as  if  she  was  sharp  all  over.  I  am  sure 
her  eyes  are  as  sharp  as  two  needles.  And  she  don't  walk  like 
other  people  ;  at  least  sometimes.  She  makes  queer  little  jerks 
and  starts  and  jumps,  and  flies  about  like  I  don't  know  what.  I 
am  afraid  it  is  not  right  for  me  to  write  so  about  her  ;  but  may  I  not 
tell  you,  mamma?  There's  nobody  else  for  me  to  talk  to.  I  can't 
like  aunt  Fortune  much  yet,  and  I  am  sure  she  don't  like  me  ;  but 
I  will  try  to  make  her.  I  have  not  forgotten  what  you  said  to  me 
about  that.  Oh,  dear  mamma,  I  will  try  to  mind  every  thing  you 
ever  said  to  me  in  your  life.  I  am  afraid  you  won't  like  what  I 
have  written  about  aunt  Fortune ;  but  indeed  I  have  done  nothing 
to  displease  her,  and  I  will  try  not  to.  If  you  were  only  here, 


112  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

mamma,  I  should  say  it  was  the  loveliest  place  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life.  Perhaps,  after  all,  I  shall  feel  better,  and  be  quite  happy  by 
and  by ;  but,  oh,  mamma,  how  glad  I  shall  be  when  I  get  a  letter 
from  you.  I  shall  begin  to  look  for  it  soon,  and  I  think  I  shall  go 
out  of  my  wits  with  joy  when  it  comes.  I  had  the  funniest  ride 
down  here  from  Thirlwall  that  you  can  think  ;  how  do  you  guess  I 
came  ?  In  a  cart  drawn  by  oxen.  They  went  so  slow  we  were  an 
age  getting  here ;  but  I  liked  it  very  much.  There  was  a  good- 
natured  man  driving  the  oxen,  and  he  was  kind  to  me ;  but, 
mamma,  what  do  you  think  ?  he  eats  at  the  table.  I  know  what 
you  would  tell  me  ;  you  would  say  I  must  not  mind  trifles.  Well, 
I  will  try  not,  mamma.  Oh,  darling  mother,  I  can't  think  much 
of  any  thing  but  you.  I  think  of  you  the  whole  time.  Who 
makes  tea  for  you  now  ?  Are  you  better  ?  Are  you  going  to 
leave  New  York  soon  ?  It  seems  dreadfully  long  since  I  saw  you. 
I  am  tired,  dear  mamma,  and  cold ;  and  it  is  getting  dark.  I  must 
stop.  I  have  a  good  big  room  to  myself ;  that  is  a  good  thing.  I 
should  not  like  to  sleep  with  aunt  Fortune.  Good-night,  dear 
mamma.  I  wish  I  could  sleep  with  you  once  more.  Oh,  when 
will  that  be  again,  mamma  ?  Good-night.  Good-night. 

"Your  affectionate  ELLEN." 

The  letter  finished  was  carefully  folded,  enclosed,  and  directed ; 
and  then  with  an  odd  mixture  of  pleasure  and  sadness,  Ellen  lit 
one  of  her  little  wax  matches,  as  she  called  them,  and  sealed  it 
very  nicely.  She  looked  at  it  fondly  a  minute  when  all  was  done, 
thinking  of  the  dear  fingers  that  would  hold  and  open  it;  her  next 
movement  was  to  sink  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  pray  most 
earnestly  for  a  blessing  upon  her  mother,  and  help  for  herself, — 
poor  Ellen  felt  she  needed  it.  She  was  afraid  of  lingering  lest  tea 
should  be  ready ;  so,  locking  up  her  letter,  she  went  down  stairs. 

The  tea  was  ready.  Miss  Fortune  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  were  at 
the  table,  and  so  was  the  old  lady,  whom  Ellen  had  not  seen  before 
that  day.  She  quietly  drew  up  her  chair  to  its  place. 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  I  hope  you  feel  better  for  your 
long  stay  up  stairs." 

"  I  do,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen ;  "  a  great  deal  better." 

"  What  have  you  been  about  ?" 

"  I  have  been  writing,  ma'am." 

"Writing  what?" 

"  I  have  been  writing  to  mamma." 

Perhaps  Miss  Fortune  heard  the  trembling  of  Ellen's  voice,  or 
her  sharp  glance  saw  the  lip  quiver  and  eyelid  droop.  Something 
softened  her.  She  spoke  in  a  different  tone ;  asked  Ellen  if  her 
tea  was  good ;  took  care  she  had  plenty  of  the  bread  and  butter, 
and  excellent  cheese,  which  was  on  the  table ;  and  lastly  cut  her  a 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  113 

large  piece  of  the  pumpkin  pie.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  too  looked  once 
or  twice  at  Ellen's  face  as  if  he  thought  all  was  not  right  there. 
He  was  not  so  sharp  as  Miss  Fortune,  but  the  swollen  eyes  and 
tear-stains  were  not  quite  lost  upon  him. 

After  tea,  when  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  gone,  and  the  tea-things 
cleared  away,  Ellen  had  the  pleasure  of  finding  out  the  mystery 
of  the  brass  kettle  and  the  white  maple  bark.  The  kettle  now 
stood  in  the  chimney  corner.  Miss  Fortune,  seating  herself  before 
it,  threw  in  all  Ellen's  stockings  except  one  pair,  which  she  flung 
over  to  her,  saying,  "  There — I  don't  care  if  you  keep  that  one." 
Then,  tucking  up  her  sleeves  to  the  elbows,  she  fished  up  pair 
after  pair  out  of  the  kettle,  and  wringing  them  out  hung  them  on 
chairs  to  dry.  But,  as  Ellen  had  opined,  they  were  no  longer 
white,  but  of  a  fine  slate  colour.  She  looked  on  in  silence,  too 
much  vexed  to  ask  questions. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  that?"  said  Miss  Fortune  at  length, 
when  she  had  got  two  or  three  chairs  round  the  fire  pretty  well 
hung  with  a  display  of  slate- coloured  cotten  legs. 

"I  don't  like  it  at  all,"  said  Ellen. 

"Well,  /  do.  How  many  pair  of  white  stockings  would  you 
like  to  drive  into  the  mud  and  let  me  wash  out  every  week?" 

"  You  wash!"  said  Ellen  in  surprise;  "I  didn't  think  of  your 
doing  it." 

"  Who  did  you  think  was  going  to  do  it?  There's  nothing  in 
this  house  but  goes  through  my  hand,  I  can  tell  you,  and  so  must 
you.  I  suppose  you've  lived  all  your  life  among  people  that 
thought  a  great  deal  of  wetting  their  little  finger ;  but  I'm  not 
one  of  'em,  I  guess  you'll  find." 

Ellen  was  convinced  of  that  already. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  Miss  Fortune  presently. 

"I'm  thinking  of  my  nice  white  darning-cotton,"  said  Ellen. 
"  I  might  just  as  well  not  have  had  it." 

"  Is  it  wound  or  in  the  skein?" 

"In  the  skein." 

"  Then  just  go  right  up  and  get  it.  I'll  warrant  I'll  fix  it  so  that 
you'll  have  a  use  for  it." 

Ellen  obeyed,  but  musing  rather  uncomfortably  what  else  there 
was  of  hers  that  Miss  Fortune  could  lay  hands  on.  She  seemed 
in  imagination  to  see  all  her  white  things  turning  brown.  She 
resolved  she  would  keep  her  trunk  well  locked  up ;  but  what  if  her 
keys  should  be  called  for  ? 

She  was  dismissed  to  her  room  soon  after  the  dyeing  business  was 
completed.  It  was  rather  a  disagreeable  surprise  to  find  her  bed 
still  unmade  ;  and  she  did  not  at  all  like  the  notion  that  the  making 
of  it  in  future  must  depend  entirely  upon  herself;  Ellen  had  no 
fancy  for  such  handiwork.  She  went  to  sleep  in  somewhat  the 
h  10* 


114  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

same  dissatisfied  mood  with  which  the  day  had  been  begun ;  dis 
pleasure  at  her  coarse  heavy  coverlid  and  cotton  sheets  again  taking 
its  place  among  weightier  matters ; — and  dreamed  of  tying  them 
together  into  a  rope  by  which  to  let  herself  down  out  of  the  window  ; 
but  when  she  had  got  so  far,  Ellen's  sleep  became  sound,  and  the 
end  of  the  dream  was  never  known. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Downward,  and  ever  farther, 

And  ever  the  brook  beside; 
And  ever  fresher  murmured, 

And  ever  clearer,  the  tide. 

LONGFELLOW.     From  the  German. 

CLOUDS  and  rain  and  cold  winds  kept  Ellen  within  doors  for  several 
days.  This  did  not  better  the  state  of  matters  between  herself  and 
her  aunt.  Shut  up  with  her  in  the  kitchen  from  morning  till  night, 
with  the  only  variety  of  the  old  lady's  company  part  of  the  time, 
Ellen  thought  neither  of  them  improved  upon  acquaintance.  Per 
haps  they  thought  the  same  of  her ;  she  was  certainly  not  in  her 
best  mood.  With  nothing  to  do,  the  time  hanging  very  heavy  on 
her  hands,  disappointed,  unhappy,  frequently  irritated,  Ellen  became 
at  length  very  ready  to  take  offence,  and  nowise  disposed  to  pass  it 
over  or  smooth  it  away.  She  seldom  showed  this  in  words,  it  is 
true,  but  it  rankled  in  her  mind.  Listless  and  brooding,  she  sat 
day  after  day,  comparing  the  present  with  the  past,  wishing  vain 
wishes,  indulging  bootless  regrets,  and  looking  upon  her  aunt  and 
grandmother  with  an  eye  of  more  settled  aversion.  The  only  other 
person  she  saw  was  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  who  came  in  regularly  to  meals  ; 
but  he  never  said  any  thing  unless  in  answer  to  Miss  Fortune's 
questions  and  remarks  about  the  farm  concerns.  These  did  not 
interest  her  ;  and  she  was  greatly  wearied  with  the  sameness  of  her 
life.  She  longed  to  go  out  again ;  but  Thursday,  and  Friday,  and 
Saturday,  and  Sunday  passed,  and  the  weather  still  kept  her  close 
prisoner.  Monday  brought  a  change,  but  though  a  cool,  drying 
wind  blew  all  day,  the  ground  was  too  wet  to  venture  out.  ^ 

On  the  evening  of  that  day,  as  Miss  Fortune  was  setting  the 
table  for  tea,  and  Ellen  sitting  before  the  fire,  feeling  weary  of 
every  thing,  the  kitchen  door  opened,  and  a  girl  somewhat  larger 
and  older  than  herself  came  in.  She  had  a  pitcher  in  her  hand, 
and  marching  straight  up  to  the  tea-table,  she  said, 

"  Will  you  let  granny  have  a  little  milk  to-night.  Miss  Fortune  ? 
I  can't  find  the  cow.  I'll  bring  it  back  to-morrow." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  115 

"  You  ha'n't  lost  her,  Nancy  ?" 

"  Have,  though,"  said  the  other ;  "  she's  been  away  these  two 
days." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  somewhere  nearer  for  milk?" 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  know — I  guess  your'n  is  the  sweetest,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  look  Ellen  did  not  understand. 

Miss  Fortune  took  the  pitcher  and  went  into  the  pantry.  While 
she  was  gone,  the  two  children  improved  the  time  in  looking  very 
hard  at  each  other.  Ellen's  gaze  was  modest  enough,  though  it 
showed  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  the  new  object;  but  the  broad, 
searching  stare  of  the  other  seemed  intended  to  take  in  all  there 
was  of  Ellen  from  her  head  to  her  feet,  and  keep  it,  and  find  out 
what  sort  of  a  creature  she  was  at  once.  Ellen  almost  shrank  from 
the  bold  black  eyes,  but  they  never  wavered,  till  Miss  Fortune's 
voice  broke  the  spell. 

"  How's  your  grandmother,  Nancy?" 

"  She's  tolerable,  ma'am,  thank  you." 

"Now  if  you  don't  bring  it  back  to-morrow,  you  won't  get  any 
more  in  a  hurry,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  as  she  handed  the  pitcher 
back  to  the  girl. 

"  I'll  mind  it,"  said  the  latter,  with  a  little  nod  of  her  head, 
which  seemed  to  say  there  was  no  danger  of  her  forgetting. 

"  Who  is  that,  aunt  Fortune  ?"  said  Ellen,  when  she  was  gone. 

"  She  is  a  girl  that  lives  up  on  the  mountain  yonder." 

"  But  what's  her  name  ?" 

"  I  had  just  as  lief  you  wouldn't  know  her  name.  She  ain't  a 
good  girl.  Don't  you  never  have  any  thing  to  do  with  her." 

Ellen  was  in  no  mind  to  give  credit  to  all  her  aunt's  opinions, 
and  she  set  this  down  as  in  part  at  least  coming  from  ill-humour. 

The  next  morning  was  calm  and  fine,  and  Ellen  spent  nearly  the 
whole  of  it  out  of  doors.  She  did  not  venture  near  the  ditch,  but 
in  every  other  direction  she  explored  the  ground,  and  examined 
what  stood  or  grew  upon  it  as  thoroughly  as  she  dared.  Toward 
noon  she  was  standing  by  the  little  gate  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
unwilling  to  go  in,  but  not  knowing  what  more  to  do,  when  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  came  from  the  lane  with  a  load  of  wood.  Ellen 
watched  the  oxen  toiling  up  the  ascent,  and  thought  it  looked  like 
very  hard  work  ;  she  was  sorry  for  them. 

"Isn't  that  a  very  heavy  load?"  she  asked  of  their  driver,  as 
he  was  throwing  it  down  under  the  apple-tree. 

"Heavy?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  It  ain't  nothing  at  all  to  'em 
They'd  take  twice  as  much  any  day  with  pleasure." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  so,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  they  don't  look  as  if  there 
was  much  pleasure  about  it.  What  makes  them  lean  over  so 
against  each  other  when  they  are  coming  up  hill?" 

"  Oh,  that's  just  a  way  they've  got.     They're  so  fond  of  each 


116  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

other,  I  suppose.     Perhaps  they've  something  particular  to  say, 
and  want  to  put  their  heads  together  for  the  purpose." 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  half  laughing,  "it  can't  be  that;  they 
wouldn't  take  the  very  hardest  time  for  that;  they  would  wait  till 
they  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill ;  but  there  they  stand  just  as  if 
they  were  asleep,  only  their  eyes  are  open.  Poor  things  !" 

"  They're  not  very  poor  any  how,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  "there 
ain't  a  finer  yoke  of  oxen  to  be  seen  than  them  are,  nor  in  better 
condition." 

He  went  on  throwing  the  wood  out  of  the  cart,  and  Ellen  stood 
looking  at  him. 

"  What' 11  you  give  me  if  I'll  make  you  a  scup  one  of  these 
days?"   said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 
"A  scup?"   said  Ellen 

«  Yes — a  scup  !  how  would  you  like  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  said  Ellen. 

^  A  scup  ! — may  be  you  don't  know  it  by  that  name  ;  some  folks 
call  it  a  swing." 

"  A  swing !  oh,  yes,"  said  Ellen,  "  now  I  know.  Oh,  I  like  it 
very  much." 

"Would  you  like  to  have  one?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  should,  very  much." 

"  Well,  what' 11  you  give  me,  if  I'll  fix  you  one?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen,  "I  have  nothing  to  give;  I'll  be 
very  much  obliged  to  you,  indeed." 

"  Well  now,  come,  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you ;  I'll  engage  to 
fix  up  a  scup  for  you,  if  you'll  give  me  a  kiss." 

Poor  Ellen  was  struck  dumb.  The  good-natured  Dutchman  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  the  little  pale-faced,  sad-looking  stranger,  and 
really  felt  very  kindly  disposed  toward  her,  but  she  neither  knew, 
nor  at  the  moment  cared  about  that.  She  stood  motionless,  utterly 
astounded  at  his  unheard-of  proposal,  and  not  a  little  indignant ; 
but  when,  with  a  good-natured  smile  upon  his  round  face,  he  came 
near  to  claim  the  kiss  he  no  doubt  thought  himself  sure  of,  Ellen 
shot  from  him  like  an  arrow  from  a  bow.  She  rushed  to  the 
house,  and  bursting  open  the  door,  stood  with  flushed  face  and 
sparkling  eyes  in  the  presence  of  her  astonished  aunt. 

"  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter?"  exclaimed  that  lady. 

"  He  wanted  to  kiss  me!"  said  Ellen,  scarce  knowing  whom 
she  was  talking  to,  and  crimsoning  more  and  more. 

"  Who  wanted  to  kiss  you  ?" 

"  That  man  out  there." 

"Whatman?" 

"  The  man  that  drives  the  oxen." 

"What,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?"  And  Ellen  never  forgot  the  loud 
ha!  ha!  which  burst  from  Miss  Fortune's  wide-open  mouth. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  117 

"  Well,  why  didn't  you  let  him  kiss  you?" 

The  laugh,  the  look,  the  tone,  stung  Ellen  to  the  very  quick. 
In  a  fury  of  passion  she  dashed  away  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  up 
to  her  own  room.  And  there,  for  a  while,  the  storm  of  anger  paS* 
drove  over  her  with  such  violence  that  conscience  had  hardly  time 
to  whisper.  Sorrow  came  in  again  as  passion  faded,  and  gentler 
but  very  bitter  weeping  took  the  place  of  convulsive  sobs  of  rage 
and  mortification,  and  then  the  whispers  of  conscience  began  to  be 
heard  a  little.  "  Oh,  mamma  !  mamma  !"  cried  poor  Ellen  in  her 
heart,  "  how  miserable  I  am  without  you  !  I  never  can  like  aunt 
Fortune — it's  of  no  use — I  never  can  like  her  ;  I  hope  I  shan't  get 
to  hate  her ! — and  that  isn't  right.  I  am  forgetting  all  that  is 
good  and  there's  nobody  to  put  me  in  mind.  Oh,  mamma  !  if 
I  could  lay  my  head  in  your  lap  for  a  minute!"  Then  came 
thoughts  of  her  Bible  and  hymn-book,  and  the  friend  who  had 
given  it ;  sorrowful  thoughts  they  were ;  and  at  last,  humbled 
and  sad,  poor  Ellen  sought  that  great  friend  she  knew  she  had 
displeased,  and  prayed  earnestly  to  be  made  a  good  child ;  she  felt 
and  owned  she  was  not  one  now. 

It  was  long  after  mid-day  when  Ellen  rose  from  her  knees.  Her 
passion  was  all  gone ;  she  felt  more  gentle  and  pleasant  than  she 
had  done  for  days ;  but  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  resentment  was 
not  all  gone.  She  still  thought  she  had  cause  to  be  angry,  and 
she  could  not  think  of  her  aunt's  look  and  tone  without  a  thrill 
of  painful  feeling.  In  a  very  different  mood,  however,  from  that 
in  which  she  had  flown  up  stairs  two  or  three  hours  before,  she 
now  came  softly  down,  and  went  out  by  the  front  door,  to  avoid 
meeting  her  aunt.  She  had  visited  that  morning  a  little  brook 
which  ran  through  the  meadow  on  the  other  side  of  the  road.  It 
had  great  charms  for  her ;  and  now  crossing  the  lane  and  creeping 
under  the  fence,  she  made  her  way  again  to  its  banks.  At  a  par 
ticular  spot,  where  the  brook  made  one  of  its  sudden  turns,  Ellen 
sat  down  upon  the  grass,  and  watched  the  dark  water, — whirling, 
brawling  over  the  stones,  hurrying  past  her,  with  ever  the  same 
soft  pleasant  sound,  and  she  was  never  tired  of  it.  She  did  not 
hear  footsteps  drawing  near,  and  it  was  not  till  some  one  was  close 
beside  her,  and  a  voice  spoke  almost  in  her  ears,  that  she  raised 
her  startled  eyes  and  saw  the  little  girl  who  had  come  the  evening 
before  for  a  pitcher  of  milk. 

"  What  are  you  doing?"  said  the  latter. 

"  I'm  watching  for  fish,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Watching  for  fish  !"  said  the  other,  rather  disdainfully. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  there,  in  that  little  quiet  place  they  come 
sometimes;  I've  seen  two." 

"  You  can  look  for  fish  another  time.  Come  now  and  take  a 
walk  with  me." 


118  TEE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"Where?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  you  shall  see.  Come  !  I'll  take  you  all  about  and  show 
you  where  people  live;  you  ha'n't  been  anywhere  yet,  have  you?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen, — "  and  I  should  like  dearly  to  go,  but " 

She  hesitated.  Her  aunt's  words  came  to  mind,  that  this  was 
not  a  good  girl,  and  that  she  must  have  nothing  to  do  with  her ; 
but  she  had  not  more  than  half  believed  them,  and  she  could  not 
possibly  bring  herself  now  to  go  in  and  ask  Miss  Fortune's  leave 
to  take  this  walk.  "I  am  sure,"  thought  Ellen,  "she  would  re 
fuse  me  if  there  was  no  reason  in  the  world."  And  then  the  de 
light  of  rambling  through  the  beautiful  country,  and  being  for 
awhile  in  other  company  than  that  of  her  aunt  Fortune  and  the  old 
grandmother !  The  temptation  was  too  great  to  be  withstood. 

"  Well,  what  are  you  thinking  about?"  said  the  girl ;  "  what's 
the  matter  ?  won't  you  come  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  "  I'm  ready.     Which  way  shall  we  go?" 

With  the  assurance  from  the  other  that  she  would  show  her 
plenty  of  ways,  they  set  off  down  the  lane ;  Ellen  with  a  secret 
fear  of  being  seen  and  called  back,  till  they  had  gone  some  distance, 
and  the  house  was  hid  from  view.  Then  her  pleasure  became  great. 
The  afternoon  was  fair  and  mild,  the  footing  pleasant,  and  Ellen 
felt  like  a  bird  out  of  a  cage.  She  was  ready  to  be  delighted  with 
every  trifle ;  her  companion  could  not  by  any  means  understand  or 
enter  into  her  bursts  of  pleasure  at  many  a  little  thing  which  she 
of  the  black  eyes  thought  not  worthy  of  notice.  She  tried  to 
bring  Ellen  back  to  higher  subjects  of  conversation. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?"   she  asked. 

"Oh,  a  good  while,"  said  Ellen, — "I  don't  know  exactly;  it's 
a  week,  I  believe." 

"  Why,  do  you  call  that  a  good  while?"   said  the  other. 

"  Well,  it  seems  a  good  while  to  me,"  said  Ellen,  sighing  ;  "  it 
seems  as  long  as  four,  I  am  sure." 

"  Then  you  don't  like  to  live  here  much,  do  you  ?" 

"  I  had  rather  be  at  home,  of  course." 

"  How  do  you  like  your  aunt  Fortune?" 

"  How  do  I  like  her?"  said  Ellen,  hesitating, — "I  think  she's 
good-looking,  and  very  smart." 

"  Yes,  you  needn't  tell  me  she's  smart, — every  body  knows  that ; 
that  ain't  what  I  ask  you ; — how  do  you  like  her?" 

"  How  do  I  like  her?"  said  Ellen,  again  ;  "  how  can  I  tell  how 
I  shall  like  her?  I  haven't  lived  with  her  but  a  week  yet." 

"  You  might  just  as  well  ha'  spoke  out,"  said  the  other,  some 
what  scornfully  ; — "  do  you  think  I  don't  know  you  half  hate  her 
already  ?  and  it'll  be  whole  hating  in  another  week  more.  When 
I  first  heard  you'd  come,  I  guessed  you'd  have  a  sweet  time  with 
her." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  119 

"Why?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  why,"  said  the  other,  impatiently,  "  when 
you  know  as  well  as  I  do.  Every  soul  that  speaks  of  you  says 
1  poor  child  !'  and  *  I'm  glad  I  ain't  her.'  You  needn't  try  to  come 
cunning  over  me.  I  shall  be  too  much  for  you,  I  tell  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  suppose  you  don't,"  said  the  other,  in  the  same  tone, 
— "  of  course  you  don't;  I  suppose  you  don't  know  whether  your 
tongue  is  your  own  or  somebody's  else.  You  think  Miss  Fortune 
is  an  angel,  and  so  do  I ;  to  be  sure  she  is  !" 

Not  very  pleased  with  this  kind  of  talk,  Ellen  walked  on  for  a 
while  in  grave  silence.  Her  companion  mean  time  recollected  her 
self  ;  when  she  spoke  again  it  was  with  an  altered  tone. 

"  How  do  you  like  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  I  don't  like  him  at  all,"  said  Ellen,  reddening. 

"Don't  you!"  said  the  other  surprised, — "why  every  body 
likes  him.  What  don't  you  like  him  for?" 

"  I  don't  like  him,"  repeated  Ellen. 

"  Ain't  Miss  Fortune  queer  to  live  in  the  way  she  does?" 

"What  way?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Why,  without  any  help, — doing  all  her  own  work,  and  living 
all  alone,  when  she's  so  rich  as  she  is." 

"Is  she  rich?"  asked  Ellen. 

"  Rich  !  I  guess  she  is  !  she's  one  of  the  very  best  farms  in  the 
country,  and  money  enough  to  have  a  dozen  help,  if  she  wanted 
'em.  Van  Brunt  takes  care  of  the  farm,  you  know  ?" 

"Does  he?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course  he  does ;  didn't  you  know  that  ?  what  did 
you  think  he  was  at  your  house  all  the  time  for?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen.  "And  are  those  aunt 
Fortune's  oxen  that  he  drives?" 

"To  be  sure  they  are.  Well,  I  do  think  you  are  green,  to  have 
been  there  all  this  time,  and  not  found  that  out.  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
does  just  what  he  pleases  over  the  whole  farm  though  ;  hires  what 
help  he  wants,  manages  every  thing  ;  and  then  he  has  his  share  of 
all  that  comes  off  it.  I  tell  you  what — you'd  better  make  friends 
with  Van  Brunt,  for  if  any  body  can  help  you  when  your  aunt  gets  one 
of  her  ugly  fits,  it's  him  ;  she  don't  care  to  meddle  with  him  much." 

Leaving  the  lane,  the  two  girls  took  a  foot-path  leading  across 
the  fields.  The  stranger  was  greatly  amused  here  with  Ellen's  awk 
wardness  in  climbing  fences.  Where  it  was  a  possible  thing,  she 
was  fain  to  crawl  under ;  but  once  or  twice  that  could  not  be  done, 
and  having  with  infinite  difficulty  mounted  to  the  top  rail,  poor 
Ellen  sat  there  in  a  most  tottering  condition,  uncertain  on  which 
side  of  the  fence  she  should  tumble  over,  but  seeing  no  other  pos 
sible  way  of  getting  down.  The  more  she  trembled  the  more  her 


120  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

companion  laughed,  standing  aloof  meanwhile,  and  insisting  she 
should  get  down  by  herself.  Necessity  enabled  her  to  do  this  at 
last,  and  each  time  the  task  became  easier  ;  but  Ellen  secretly  made 
up  her  mind  that  her  new  friend  was  not  likely  to  prove  a  very  good 
one. 

As  they  went  along,  she  pointed  out  to  Ellen  two  or  three  houses 
in  the  distance,  and  gave  her  not  a  little  gossip  about  the  people 
who  lived  in  them ;  but  all  this  Ellen  scarcely  heard,  and  cared 
nothing  at  all  about.  She  had  paused  by  the  side  of  a  large  rock 
standing  alone  by  the  wayside,  and  was  looking  very  closely  at  its 
surface. 

"  What  is  this  curious  brown  stuff,"  said  Ellen,  "growing  all 
over  the  rock  ? — like  shrivelled  and  dried-up  leaves  ?  Isn't  it 
curious?  part  of  it  stands  out  like  a  leaf, and  part  of  it  sticks  fast; 
I  wonder  if  it  grows  here,  or  what  it  is." 

"Oh,  never  mind,"  said  the  other;  "it  always  grows  on  the 
rocks  everywhere  ;  I  don't  know  what  it  is,  and  what's  more  I  don't 
care.  ' Tain' t  worth  looking  at.  Come!" 

Ellen  followed  her.  But  presently  the  path  entered  an  open 
woodland,  and  now  her  delight  broke  forth  beyond  bounds. 

"  Oh,  how  pleasant  this  is  !  how  lovely  this  is  !  Isn't  it  beautiful  ?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"  Isn't  what  beautiful?  I  do  think  you  are  the  queerest  girl, 
Ellen." 

"  Why,  every  thing,"  said  Ellen,  not  minding  the  latter  part  of 
the  sentence ;  u  the  ground  is  beautiful,  and  those  tall  trees,  and 
that  beautiful  blue  sky — only  look  at  it." 

*  The  ground  is  all  covered  with  stones  and  rocks — is  that  what 
you  call  beautiful  ?  and  the  trees  are  as  homely  as  they  can  be, 
with  their  great  brown  stems  and  no  leaves.  Come  !  what  are  you 
staring  at?" 

Ellen's  eyes  were  fixed  on  a  string  of  dark  spots  which  were 
rapidly  passing  overhead. 

"Hark!"  said  she;  "do  you  hear  that  noise?  what  is  that? 
what  is  that?" 

"  Isn't  it  only  a  flock  of  ducks,"  said  the  other,  contemptuously  ; 
"  come  !  do  conie  !" 

But  Ellen  was  rooted  to  the  ground,  and  her  eyes  followed  the 
airy  travellers  till  the  last  one  had  quitted  the  piece  of  blue  sky 
which  the  surrounding  woods  left  to  be  seen.  And  scarcely  were 
these  gone  when  a  second  flight  came  in  view,  following  exactly  in 
the  track  of  the  first. 

"  Where  are  they  going?"   said  Ellen. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  where  they  are  going ;  they  never  told 
me.  I  know  where  /  am  going  ;  I  should  like  to  know  whether 
you  are  going  along  with  me." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  121 

Ellen,  however,  was  in  no  hurry.  The  ducks  had  disappeared, 
but  her  eye  had  caught  something  else  that  charmed  it. 

"  What  is  this  ?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Nothing  but  moss." 

"  Is  that  moss !  How  beautiful !  how  green  and  soft  it  is  !  I 
declare  it's  as  soft  as  a  carpet." 

11  As  soft  as  a  carpet !"  repeated  the  other  :  "  I  should  like  to  see 
a  carpet  as  soft  as  that !  you  never  did,  I  guess." 

"  Indeed  I  have,  though,"  said  Ellen,  who  was  gently  jumping 
up  and  down  on  the  green  moss  to  try  its  softness,  with  a  face  of 
great  satisfaction. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  a  bit,"  said  the  other ;  "  all  the  carpets  I  ever 
saw  were  as  hard  as  a  board,  and  harder ;  as  soft  as  that,  indeed  !" 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen,  still  jumping  up  and  down,  with  bonnet  off, 
and  glowing  cheek,  and  hair  dancing  about  her  face,  "you  may 
believe  what  you  like;  but  I've  seen  a  carpet  as  soft  as  this,  and 
softer  too  ;  only  one,  though." 

"  What  was  it  made  of  ?" 

"What  other  carpets  are  made  of,  I  suppose.  Come,  I'll  go 
with  you  now.  I  do  think  this  is  the  loveliest  place  I  ever  did 
see.  Are  there  any  flowers  here  in  the  spring?" 

"  I  don't  know — yes,  lots  of  'em." 

"  Pretty  ones  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Youd  think  so,  I  suppose  ;  I  never  look  at  'em." 

"  Oh,  how  lovely  that  will  be !"  said  Ellen,  clasping  her  hands ; 
"  how  pleasant  it  must  be  to  live  in  the  country  !" 

"Pleasant,    indeed!"  said   the    other;   "I    think    it's  hateful.  \ 
You'd  think  so.  too,  if  you  lived  where  I  do.     It  makes  me  mad 
at  granny  every  day  because  she  won't  go  to  Thirlwall.     Wait  till 
we  get  out  of  the  wood,  and  I'll  show  you  where  I  live.     You 
can't  see  it  from  here." 

Shocked  a  little  at  her  companion' s  language,  Ellen  again  walked  on 
in  sober  silence.  Gradually  the  ground  became  more  broken,  sinking 
rapidly  from  the  side  of  the  path,  and  rising  again  in  a  steep  bank 
on  the  other  side  of  a  narrow  dell ;  both  sides  were  thickly 
wooded,  but  stripped  of  green,  now,  except  where  here  and  there 
a  hemlock  flung  its  graceful  branches  abroad  and  stood  in  lonely 
beauty  among  its  leafless  companions.  Now  the  gurgling  of  waters 
was  heard. 

"Where  is  that?"  said  Ellen,  stopping  short. 

"  'Way  down,  down,  at  the  bottom  there.     It's  the  brook." 

"  What  brook  ?     Not  the  same  that  goes  by  aunt  Fortune's  ?" 

"Yes,  it's  the  very  same.     It's  the  crookedest  thing  you  ever 

saw.     It  runs   over  there,"  said  the  speaker,  pointing  with  her 

arm,  "and  then  it  takes  a  turn  and  goes  that  way,  and  then  it 

comes  round  so,  and  then  it  shoots  off  in  that  way  again   and 

i-  11 


122  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

passes  by  your  house ;  and  after  that  the  dear  knows  where  it 
goes,  for  I  don't.  But  I  don't  suppose  it  could  run  straight  if  it 
was  to  try  to." 

"  Can't  we  get  down  to  it?"  asked  Ellen. 

11  To  be  sure  we  can,  unless  you're  as  afraid  of  steep  banks  as  you 
are  of  fences." 

Very  steep  indeed  it  was,  and  strewn  with  loose  stones,  but 
Ellen  did  not  falter  here,  and  though  once  or  twice  in  imminent 
danger  of  exchanging  her  cautious  stepping  for  one  long  roll  to 
the  bottom,  she  got  there  safely  on  her  two  feet.  When  there, 
every  thing  was  forgotten  in  delight.  It  was  a  wild  little  place. 
The  high,  close  sides  of  the  dell  left  only  a  little  strip  of  sky 
overhead ;  and  at  their  feet  ran  the  brook,  much  more  noisy  and 
lively  here  than  where  Ellen  had  before  made  its  acquaintance ; 
leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  eddying  round  large  stones,  and  boiling 
over  the  small  ones,  and  now  and  then  pouring  quietly  over  some 
great  trunk  of  a  tree  that  had  fallen  across  its  bed  and  dammed 
up  the  whole  stream.  Ellen  could  scarcely  contain  herself  at  the 
magnificence  of  many  of  the  waterfalls,  the  beauty  of  the  little 
quiet  pools  where  the  water  lay  still  behind  some  large  stone,  and 
the  variety  of  graceful  tiny  cascades. 

"  Look  here,  Nancy  !"  cried  Ellen,  "that's  the  Falls  of  Niagara 
— do  you  see  ? — that  large  one  ;  Oh,  that  is  splendid  !  And  this 
will  do  for  Trenton  Falls — what  a  fine  foam  it  makes — isn't  it  a 
beauty? — and  what  shall  we  call  this?  I  don't  know  what  to  call 
it;  I  wish  we  could  name  them  all.  But  there's  no  end  to  them. 
Oh,  just  look  at  that  one  !  that's  too  pretty  not  to  have  a  name  ; 
what  shall  it  be?" 

"  Black  Falls,"  suggested  the  other. 

"  Black,"  said  Ellen,  dubiously,  "  why  !— I  don't  like  that." 

"  Why  the  water's  all  dark  and  black,  don't  you  see  ?" 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen,  "  let  it  be  Black,  then  ;  but  I  don't  like  it. 
Now  remember, — this  is  Niagara, — that  is  Black, — and  this  is 
Trenton, — and  what  is  this?" 

"If  you  are  a-going  to  name  them  all,"  said  Nancy,  "we 
shan't  get  home  to-night;  you  might  as  well  name  all  the  trees  ; 
there's  a  hundred  of 'em,  and  more.  I  say,  Ellen!  suppos'n  we 
follow  the  brook  instead  of  climbing  up  yonder  again ;  it  will  take 
us  out  to  the  open  fields  by  and  by." 

"  Oh,  do  let's  1"  said  Ellen  ;  "  that  will  be  lovely." 

It  proved  a  rough  way ;  but  Ellen  still  thought  and  called  it 
"  lovely."  Often  by  the  side  of  the  stream  there  was  no  footing 
at  all,  and  the  girls  picked  their  way  over  the  stones,  large  and 
small,  wet  and  dry,  which  strewed  its  bed;  against  which  the 
water  foamed  and  fumed  and  fretted,  as  if  in  great  impatience.  It 
was  ticklish  work  getting  along  over  these  stones  ;  now  tottering 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  123 

on  an  unsteady  one ;  now  slipping  on  a  wet  one ;  and  every  now 
and  then  making  huge  leaps  from  rock  to  rock,  which  there  was 
no  other  method  of  reaching,  at  the  imminent  hazard  of  falling 
in.  But  they  laughed  at  the  danger  ;  sprang  on  in  great  glee, 
delighted  with  the  exercise  and  the  fun;  didn't  stay  long  enough 
anywhere  to  lose  their  balance,  and  enjoyed  themselves  amazingly. 
There  was  many  a  hair-breadth  escape  ;  many  an  almost  sousing ; 
but  that  made  it  all  the  more  lively.  The  brook  formed,  as  Nancy 
had  said,  a  constant  succession  of  little  waterfalls,  its  course  being 
quite  steep  and  very  rocky ;  and  in  some  places  there  were  pools 
quite  deep  enough  to  have  given  them  a  thorough  wetting,  to  say 
no  more,  if  they  had  missed  their  footing  and  tumbled  in.  But 
this  did  not  happen.  In  due  time,  though  with  no  little  difficulty, 
they  reached  the  spot  where  the  brook  came  forth  from  the  wood  into 
the  open  day,  and  thence  making  a  sharp  turn  to  the  right,  skirted 
along  by  the  edge  of  the  trees,  as  if  unwilling  to  part  company 
with  them. 

"I  guess  we'd  better  get  back  into  the  lane  now,"  said  Miss 
Nancy,  "  we're  a  pretty  good  long  way  from  home." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  Behind  the  door  stand  bags  o'  meal, 

And  in  the  ark  is  plenty. 
And  good  hard  cakes  his  mither  makes, 

And  mony  a  sweeter  dainty. 
A  good  fat  sow,  a  sleeky  cow 
Are  standing  in  the  byre  ; 
While  winking  puss,  wi'  mealy  mou, 
Is  playing  round  the  fire." 

SCOTCH  SONG. 

THEY  left  the  wood  and  the  brook  behind  them,  and  crossed  a 
large  stubble-field  ;  then  got  over  a  fence  into  another.  They  were 
in  the  midst  of  this  when  Nancy  stopped  Ellen,  and  bade  her  look 
up  toward  the  west,  where  towered  a  high  mountain,  no  longer 
hid  from  their  view  by  the  trees. 

"  I  told  you  I'd  show  you  where  I  live,"  said  she.  "  Look  up 
now, — clear  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  almost,  and  a  little  to  the 
right ;  do  you  see  that  little  mite  of  a  house  there  ?  Look  sharp, 
— it's  a'most  as  brown  as  the  rock, — do  you  see  it  ? — it's  close  by 
that  big  pine-tree,  but  it  don't  look  big  .from  here — it's  just  by  that 
little  dark  spot  near  the  top  ?" 

"I  see  it,"  said  Ellen, — "I  see  it  now:  do  you  live  'way  up 
there?" 


124  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  That's  just  what  I  do ;  and  that's  just  what  I  wish  I  didn't. 
But  granny  likes  it ;  she  will  live  there.  I'm  blessed  if  I  know 
what  for,  if  it  ain't  to  plague  me.  Do  you  think  you'd  like  to  live 
up  on  the  top  of  a  mountain  like  that?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  I  should,"  said  Ellen.  "  Isn't  it  very  cold 
up  there  ?" 

"Cold!  you  don't  know  any  thing  about  it.  The  wind  conies 
there,  I  tell  you !  enough  to  cut  you  in  two ;  I  have  to  take  and 
hold  on  to  the  trees  sometimes  to  keep  from  being  blowed  away. 
And  then  granny  sends  me  out  every  morning  before  it's  light,  no 
matter  how  deep  the  snow  is,  to  look  for  the  cow ;  and  it's  so  bitter 
cold  I  expect  nothing  else  but  I'll  be  froze  to  death  some  time." 

"Oh,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  look  of  horror,  "how  can  she  do 
so?" 

"  Oh,  she  don't  care,"  said  the  other ;  "  she  sees  my  nose  freeze 
off  every  winter,  and  it  don't  make  no  difference." 

"  Freeze  your  nose  off!"  said  Ellen. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  other  nodding  gravely, — "  every  winter; 
it  grows  out  again  when  the  warm  weather  conies." 

"  And  is  that  the  reason  why  it  is  so  little?"  said  Ellen,  inno 
cently,  and  with  great  curiosity. 

"  Little  !"  said  the  other,  crimsoning  in  a  fury, — "  what  do  you 
mean  by  that?  it's  as  big  as  yours  any  day,  I  can  tell  you." 

Ellen  involuntarily  put  her  hand  to  her  face  to  see  if  Nancy 
spoke  true.  Somewhat  reassured  to  find  a  very  decided  ridge 
where  her  companion's  nose  was  wanting  in  the  line  of  beauty, 
she  answered  in  her  turn, — 

"  It's  no  such  thing,  Nancy  !  you  oughtn't  to  say  so  ;  you  know 
better." 

"I  don't  know  better!  I  ought  to  say  so!"  replied  the  other, 
furiously.  "  If  I  had  your  nose,  I'd  be  glad  to  have  it  freeze  off; 
I'd  a  sight  rather  have  none.  I'd  pull  it  every  day,  if  I  was  you, 
to  make  it  grow." 

"  I  shall  believe  what  aunt  Fortune  said  of  you  was  true,"  said 
Ellen.  She  had  coloured  very  high,  but  she  added  no  more,  and 
walked  on  in  dignified  silence.  Nancy  stalked  before  her  in  silence 
that  was  meant  to  be  dignified  too,  though  it  had  not  exactly  that 
air.  By  degrees  each  cooled  down,  and  Nancy  was  trying  to  find 
out  what  Miss  Fortune  had  said  of  her,  when  on  the  edge  of  the 
next  field  they  met  the  brook  again.  After  running  a  long  way  to 
the  right,  it  had  swept  round,  and  here  was  flowing  gently  in  the 
opposite  direction.  But  how  were  they  ever  to  cross  it  ?  The 
brook  ran  in  a  smooth  current  between  them  and  a  rising  bank  on 
the  other  side,  so  high  as  to  prevent  their  seeing  what  lay  beyond. 
There  were  no  stepping  stones  now.  The  only  thing  that  looked 
like  a  bridge  was  an  old  log  that  had  fallen  across  the  brook,  or 


a  Ellen  set  out  upon  her  perilous  journey." 


Page  125. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  125 

perhaps  had  at  some  time  or  other  been  put  there  on  purpose ;  and 
that  lay  more  than  half  in  the  water ;  what  remained  of  its  surface 
was  green  with  moss  and  slippery  with  slime.  Ellen  was  sadly 
afraid  to  trust  herself  on  it ;  but  what  to  do  ? — Nancy  soon  settled 
the  question  as  far  as  she  was  concerned.  Pulling  off  her  thick 
shoes,  she  ran  fearlessly  upon  the  rude  bridge ;  her  clinging  bare 
feet  carried  her  safely  over,  and  Ellen  soon  saw  her  reshoeing  her 
self  in  triumph  on  the  opposite  side ;  but  thus  left  behind  and 
alone,  her  own  difficulty  increased. 

"  Pull  off  your  shoes,  and  do  as  I  did,"  said  Nancy. 

"  I  can't,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I'm  afraid  of  wetting  my  feet;  I  know 
mamma  wouldn't  let  me." 

"  Afraid  of  wetting  your  feet !"  said  the  other ;  "  what  a  chick- 
aninny  you  are  !  Well,  if  you  try  to  come  over  with  your  shoes 
on  you'll  fall  in,  I  tell  you;  and  then  you'll  wet  more  than  your 
feet.  But  come  along  somehow,  for  I  won't  stand  waiting  here 
much  longer." 

Thus  urged,  Ellen  set  out  upon  her  perilous  journey  over  the 
bridge.  Slowly  and  fearfully,  and  with  as  much  care  as  possible, 
she  set  step  by  step  upon  the  slippery  log.  Already  half  of  the 
danger  was  passed,  when,  reaching  forward  to  grasp  Nancy's  out 
stretched  hand,  she  missed  it, — perhaps  that  was  Nancy's  fault, — 
poor  Ellen  lost  her  balance  and  went  in  head  foremost.  The  water 
was  deep  enough  to  cover  her  completely  as  she  lay,  though  not 
enough  to  prevent  her  getting  up  again.  She  was  greatly  fright 
ened,  but  managed  to  struggle  up  first  to  a  sitting  posture,  and 
then  to  her  feet,  and  then  to  wade  out  to  the  shore ;  though, 
dizzy  and  sick,  she  came  near  falling  back  again  more  than  once. 
The  water  was  very  cold ;  and,  thoroughly  sobered,  poor  Ellen  felt 
chill  enough  in  body  and  mind  too  ;  all  her  fine  spirits  were  gone ; 
and  not  the  less  because  Nancy  had  risen  to  a  great  pitch  of 
delight  at  her  misfortune.  The  air  rang  with  her  laughter  ;  she 
likened  Ellen  to  every  ridiculous  thing  she  could  think  of.  Too 
miserable  to  be  angry,  Ellen  could  not  laugh,  and  would  not  cry, 
but  she  exclaimed  in  distress, — 

"  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  !  I  am  so  cold  !" 

"Come  along,"  said  Nancy;  "give  me  your  hand;  we'll  run 
right  over  to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's — 'tain't  far — its  just  over  here. 
There,"  said  she,  as  they  got  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  and  came 
within  sight  of  a  house  standing  only  a  few  fields  off, — "  there  it 
is !  Kun,  Ellen,  and  we'll  be  there  directly." 

' '  Who  is  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  ?' '  Ellen  contrived  to  say,  as  Nancy 
hurried  her  along. 

"Who  is  she? — run,  Ellen! — why  she's  just  Mrs.  Van  Brunt 
— your  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  mother  you  know, — make  haste,  Ellen — 
we  had  rain  enough  the  other  day ;  I'm  afraid  it  wouldn't  be  good 


126  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

for  the  grass  if  you  stayed  too  long  in  one  place  ; — hurry  !  I'm 
afraid  you'll  catch  cold, — you  got  your  feet  wet  after  all,  I'm 
sure." 

Run  they  did ;  and  a  few  minutes  brought  them  to  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt's  door.  The  little  brick  walk  leading  to  it  from  the  court 
yard  gate  was  as  neat  as  a  pin  ;  so  was  every  thing  else  the  eye 
could  rest  on ;  and  when  Nancy  went  in  poor  Ellen  stayed  Tier  foot 
at  the  door,  unwilling  to  carry  her  wet  shoes  and  dripping  gar 
ments  any  further.  She  could  hear,  however,  what  was  going  on. 

"  Hillo!  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,"  shouted  Nancy, — "where  are  you? 
— oh  !  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  are  you  out  of  water  ?  'cos  if  you  are  I've 
brought  you  a  plenty  ;  the  person  that  has  it  don't  want  it ;  she's 
just  at  the  door ;  she  wouldn't  bring  it  in  till  she  knew  you  wanted 
it;  oh,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  don't  look  so  or  you'll  kill  me  with  laugh 
ing.  Come  and  see  !  come  and  see." 

The  steps  within  drew  near  the  door,  and  first  Nancy  showed 
herself,  and  then  a  little  old  woman,  not  very  old  either,  of  very 
kind,  pleasant  countenance. 

"  What  is  all  this?"  said  she  in  great  surprise.  "Bless  me! 
poor  little  dear  !  what  is  this  ?" 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  but  a  drowned  rat,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt, 
don't  you  see?"  said  Nancy. 

"  Go  home,  Nancy  Vawse  !  go  home,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  you're 
a  regular  bad  girl.  I  do  believe  this  is  some  mischief  o'  yourn, 
go  right  off  home ;  it's  time  you  were  after  your  cow  a  great  while 
ago." 

As  she  spoke,  she  drew  Ellen  in,  and  shut  the  door. 

"Poor  little  dear,"  said  the  old  lady,  kindly,  "what  has  hap 
pened  to  you  ?  Come  to  the  fire,  love,  you're  trembling  with  the 
cold.  Oh,  dear !  dear  !  your  soaking  wet ;  this  is  all  along  of 
Nancy  somehow,  I  know;  how  was  it,  love?  Ain't  you  Miss 
Fortune's  little  girl?  Never  mind,  don't  talk,  darling;  there  ain't 
one  bit  of  colour  in  your  face,  not  one  bit." 

Good  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  had  drawn  Ellen  to  the  fire,  and  all  this 
while  she  was  pulling  off  as  fast  as  possible  her  wet  clothes.  Then 
sending  a  girl  who  was  in  waiting,  for  clean  towels,  she  rubbed 
Ellen  dry  from  head  to  foot,  and  wrapping  her  in  a  blanket,  left 
her  in  a  chair  before  the  fire,  while  she  went  to  seek  something  for 
her  to  put  on.  Ellen  had  managed  to  tell  who  she  was,  and  how 
her  mischance  had  come  about,  but  little  else,  though  the  kind  old 
lady  had  kept  on  pouring  out  words  of  sorrow  and  pity  during  the 
whole  time.  She  came  trotting  back  directly  with  one  of  her  own 
short  gowns,  the  only  thing  that  she  could  lay  hands  on  that  was 
anywhere  near  Ellen's  length.  Enormously  big  it  was  for  her,  but 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt  wrapped  it  round  and  round,  and  the  blanket  over 
it  again,  and  then  she  bustled  about  till  she  had  prepared  a  tumbler 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  127 

of  hot  drink,  which  she  said  was  to  keep  Ellen  from  catching  cold. 
It  was  any  thing  but  agreeable,  being  made  from  some  bitter  herb, 
and  sweetened  with  molasses  ;  but  Ellen  swallowed  it,  as  she  would 
any  thing  else  at  such  kind  hands,  and  the  old  lady  carried  her 
herself  into  a  little  room  opening  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  laid  her 
in  a  bed  that  had  been  warmed  for  her.  Excessively  tired  and 
weak  as  she  was,  Ellen  scarcely  needed  the  help  of  the  hot  herb 
tea  to  fall  into  a  very  deep  sleep ;  perhaps  it  might  not  have  lasted 
so  very  long  as  it  did,  but  for  that.  Afternoon  changed  for  even 
ing,  evening  grew  quite  dark,  still  Ellen  did  not  stir ;  and  after 
every  little  journey  into  the  bedroom  to  see  how  she  was  doing, 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt  came  back  saying  how  glad  she  was  to  see  her 
sleeping  so  finely.  Other  eyes  looked  on  her  for  a  minute — kind 
and  gentle  eyes;  though  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  were  kind  and  gentle 
too  ;  once  a  soft  kiss  touched  her  forehead,  there  was  no  danger  of 
waking  her. 

It  was  perfectly  dark  in  the  little  bedroom,  and  had  been  so  a 
good  while,  when  Ellen  was  aroused  by  some  noise,  and  then  a 
rough  voice  she  knew  very  well.  Feeling  faint  and  weak,  and  not 
more  than  half  awake  yet,  she  lay  still  and  listened.  She  heard 
the  outer  door  open  and  shut,  and  then  the  voice  said, 

"  So  mother,  you've  got  my  stray  sheep  here,  have  you  ?" 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  "have  you  been 
looking  for  her?  how  did  you  know  she  was  here?" 

"  Looking  for  her  !  ay,  looking  for  her  ever  since  sundown.  She 
has  been  missing  at  the  house  since  some  time  this  forenoon.  I 
believe  her  aunt  got  a  bit  scared  about  her;  any  how  I  did.  She's 
a  queer  little  chip  as  ever  I  see." 

"  She's  a  dear  little  soul,  /  know,"  said  his  mother  ;  "  you 
needn't  say  nothin'  agin  her,  I  ain't  a  going  to  believe  it." 

"No  more  am  I — I'm  the  best  friend  she's  got,  if  she  only 
knowed  it;  but  don't  you  think,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  laughing, 
"  I  asked  her  to  give  me  a  kiss  this  forenoon,  and  if  I'd  been  an 
owl  she  couldn't  ha'  been  more  scared  ;  she  went  off  like  a  streak, 
and  Miss  Fortune  said  she  was  as  mad  as  she  could  be,  and  that's 
the  last  of  her." 

"  How  did  you  find  her  out?" 

"  I  met  that  mischievous  Vawse  girl,  and  I  made  her  tell  me  ; 
she  had  no  mind  to  at  first.  It'll  be  the  worse  for  Ellen  if  she 
takes  to  that  wicked  thing." 

"  She  won't.  Nancy  has  been  taking  her  a  walk,  and  worked  it 
so  as  to  get  her  into  the  brook,  and  then  she  brought  her  here, 
just  as  dripping  wet  as  she  could  be.  I  gave  her  something  hot 
and  put  her  to  bed,  and  she'll  do,  I  reckon  ;  but  I  tell  you  it  gave 
me  queer  feelings  to  see  the  poor  little  thing  just  as  white  as  ashes, 
.and  all  of  a  tremble,  and  looking  so  sorrowful  too.  She's  sleeping 


128  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

finely  now  ;  but  it  ain't  right  to  see  a  child's  face  look  so  ; — it  ain't 
right,"  repeated  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  thoughtfully. — "  You  ha' n't  had 
supper,  have  you  ?" 

"  No,  mother,  and  I  must  take  that  young  one  back.  Ain't  she 
awake  yet?" 

"I'll  see  directly;  but  she  ain't  going  home,  nor  you  neither, 
'Brahm,  till  you've  got  your  supper;  it  would  be  a  sin  to  let  her. 
She  shall  have  a  taste  of  my  splitters  this  very  night;  I've  been 
makin'  them  o'  purpose  for  her.  So  you  may  just  take  off  your 
hat  and  sit  down." 

"  You  mean  to  let  her  know  where  to  come  when  she  wants  good 
things,  mother.  Well,  I  won't  say  splitters  ain't  worth  waiting 
for." 

Ellen  heard  him  sit  down,  and  then  she  guessed  from  the  words 
that  passed  that  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  and  her  little  maid  were  busied 
in  making  the  cakes  ;  she  lay  quiet. 

"  You're  a  good  friend,  'Brahm,"  began  the  old  lady  again,  "  no 
body  knows  that  better  than  me ;  but  I  hope  that  poor  little  thing 
has  got  another  one  to-day  that'll  do  more  for  her  than  you  can." 

"  What,  yourself,  mother?     I  don't  know  about  that." 

"  No,  no  ;  do  you  think  I  mean  myself? — there,  turn  it  quick, 
Sally! — Miss  Alice  has  been  here." 

"  How  ?  this  evening  ?" 

"  Just  a  little  before  dark,  on  her  grey  pony.  She  came  in  for 
a  minute,  and  I  took  her — that'll  burn,  Sally ! — I  took  her  in  to 
see  the  child  while  she  was  asleep,  and  I  told  her  all  you  told  me 
about  her.  She  didn't  say  much,  but  she  looked  at  her  very  sweet, 
as  she  always  does,  and  I  guess, — there — now  I'll  see  after  my  little 
sleeper." 

And  presently  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  came  to  the  bedside  with  a  light, 
and  her  arm  full  of  Ellen's  dry  clothes.  Ellen  felt  as  if  she  could 
have  put  her  arms  round  her  kind  old  friend  and  hugged  her  with 
all  her  heart ;  but  it  was  not  her  way  to  show  her  feelings  before 
strangers.  She  suffered  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  to  dress  her  in  silence, 
only  saying  with  a  sigh,  "  How  kind  you  are  to  me,  ma'am!"  to 
which  the  old  lady  replied  with  a  kiss,  and  telling  her  she  mustn't 
say  a  word  about  that. 

The  kitchen  was  bright  with  firelight  and  candlelight ;  the  tea- 
table  looked  beautiful  with  its  piles  of  white  splitters,  besides 
plenty  of  other  and  more  substantial  things ;  and  at  the  corner  of 
the  hearth  sat  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  So,"  said  he,  smiling,  as  Ellen  came  in  and  took  her  stand  at 
the  opposite  corner, — "  so  I  drove  you  away  this  morning  ?  You 
ain't  mad  with  me  yet,  I  hope." 

Ellen  crossed  directly  over  to  him,  and  putting  her  little  hand  in 
his  great  rough  one,  said,  "  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  129. 

Van  Brunt,  for  taking  so  much  trouble  to  come  and  look  after 
me." 

She  said  it  with  a  look  of  gratitude  and  trust  that  pleased  him 
very  much. 

"  Trouble,  indeed !"  said  he,  good-hum ouredly,  "  I'd  take  twice 
as  much  any  day  for  what  you  wouldn't  give  me  this  forenoon. 
But  never  fear,  Miss  Ellen,  I  ain't  a  going  to  ask  you  that  again. 

He  shook  the  little  hand ;  and  from  that  time  Ellen  and  her 
rough  charioteer  were  firm  friends. 

Mrs.  Van  Brunt  now  summoned  them  to  table ;  and  Ellen  was 
well  feasted  with  the  splitters,  which  were  a  kind  of  rich  short 
cake  baked  in  irons,  very  thin  and  crisp,  and  then  split  in  two  and 
buttered,  whence  their  name.  A  pleasant  meal  was  that.  What 
ever  an  epicure  might  have  thought  of  the  tea,  to  Ellen  in  her 
famished  state  it  was  delicious  ;  and  no  epicure  could  have  found 
fault  with  the  cold  ham  and  the  butter  and  the  cakes ;  but  far  bet 
ter  than  all  was  the  spirit  of  kindness  that  was  there.  Ellen  feasted 
on  that  more  than  on  any  thing  else.  If  her  host  and  hostess  were  not 
very  polished,  they  could  not  have  been  outdone  in  their  kind  care 
of  her  and  kind  attention  to  her  wants.  And  when  the  supper  was 
at  length  over,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  declared  a  little  colour  had  come 
back  to  the  pale  cheeks.  The  colour  came  back  in  good  earnest  a 
few  minutes  after,  when  a  great  tortoise-shell  cat  walked  into  the 
room.  Ellen  jumped  down  from  her  chair,  and  presently  was  be 
stowing  the  tenderest  caresses  upon  pussy,  who  stretched  out  her 
head  and  purred  as  if  she  liked  them  very  well. 

"  What  a  nice  cat !"  said  Ellen. 

"She  has  five  kittens,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt. 

"Five  kittens!"  said  Ellen.  "Oh,  may  I  come  some  time  and 
see  them?" 

"  You  shall  see  'em  right  away,  dear,  and  come  as  often  as  you 
like  too.  Sally,  just  take  a  basket,  and  go  fetch  them  kittens  here." 

Upon  this,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  began  to  talk  about  its  being  time  to 
go,  if  they  were  going.  But  his  mother  insisted  that  Ellen  should 
stay  where  she  was ;  she  said  she  was  not  fit  to  go  home  that 
night,  that  she  oughtn't  to  walk  a  step,  and  that  '  Brahm'  should 
go  and  tell  Miss  Fortune  the  child  was  safe  and  well,  and  would 
be  with  her  early  in  the  morning.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  shook  his  head 
two  or  three  times,  but  finally  agreed,  to  Ellen's  great  joy.  When 
he  came  back,  she  was  sitting  on  the  floor  before  the  fire,  with  all 
the  five  kittens  in  her  lap,  and  the  old  mother  cat  walking  around 
and  over  her  and  them.  But  she  looked  up  with  a  happier  face 
then  he  had  ever  seen  her  wear,  and  told  him  she  was  "  so  much 
obliged  to  him  for  taking  such  a  long  walk  for  her ;"  and  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  felt  that,  like  his  oxen,  he  could  have  done  a  great  deal 
more  with  pleasure. 
i 


130  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

It's  hardly  in  a  body's  pow'r, 
To  keep  at  times  frae  being  sour. 

BURNS. 

BEFORE  the  sun  was  up  the  next  morning,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  came 
into  Ellen's  room  and  aroused  her. 

"  It's  a  real  shame  to  wake  you  up,"  she  said,  "  when  you  were 
sleeping  so  finely;  but  'Brahm  wants  to  be  off  to  his  work,  and 
won't  stay  for  breakfast.  Slept  sound,  did  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed;  as  sound  as  a  top,"  said  Ellen,  rubbing  her 
eyes  ; — "  I  am  hardly  awake  yet." 

"  I  declare  it's  too  bad,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt. — "  but  there's 
no  help  for  it.  You  don't  feel  no  headache,  do  you,  nor  pain  in 
your  bones?" 

"  No,  ma'am,  not  a  bit  of  it;  I  feel  nicely." 

"  Ah  !  well,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  "  then  your  tumble  into  the 
brook  didn't  do  you  any  mischief;  I  thought  it  wouldn't.  Poor 
little  soul !" 

"  I  am  very  glad  I  did  fall  in,"  said  Ellen,  "  for  if  I  hadn't  I 
shouldn't  have  come  here,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt." 

The  old  lady  instantly  kissed  her. 

"Oh!  mayn't  I  just  take  one  look  at  the  kitties?"  said  Ellen, 
when  she  was  ready  to  go. 

"Indeed  you  shall,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  "if  'Brahm's  hurry 
was  ever  so  much  ; — and  it  ain't,  besides.  Come  here,  dear." 

She  took  Ellen  back  to  a  waste  lumber-room,  where  in  a  corner, 
on  some  old  pieces  of  carpet,  lay  pussy  and  her  family.  How 
fondly  Ellen's  hand  was  passed  over  each  little  soft  back !  how 
hard  it  was  for  her  to  leave  them  ! 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  one  home  with  you,  dear?"  said 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  at  length. 

"  Oh  !  may  I?"  said  Ellen,  looking  up  in  delight;  "are  you  in 
earnest  ?  Oh,  thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  Van  Brunt !  Oh,  I  shall  be  so 
glad!" 

"  Well,  choose  one  then,  dear, — choose  the  one  you  like  best, 
and  'Brahm  shall  carry  it  for  you." 

The  choice  was  made,  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  and  Ellen  returned 
to  the  kitchen,  where  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  already  been  waiting 
some  time.  He  shook  his  head  when  he  saw  what  was  in  the 
basket  his  mother  handed  to  him. 

"That  won't  do,"  said  he;  "I  can't  go  that,  mother.  I'll 
undertake  to  see  Miss  Ellen  safe  home,  but  the  cat  'ud  be  more 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  131 

than  I  could  manage.     I  think  I'd  hardly  get  off  with  a  whole  skin 
'tween  the  one  and  t'other." 

"  Well,  now  !"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt. 

Ellen  gave  a  longing  look  at  her  little  black-and-white  favourite, 
which  was  uneasily  endeavouring  to  find  out  the  height  of  the  basket, 
and  mewing  at  the  same  time  with  a  most  ungratified  expression. 
However,  though  sadly  disappointed,  she  submitted  with  a  very 
good  grace  to  what  could  not  be  helped.  First  setting  down  the 
little  cat  out  of  the  basket  it  seemed  to  like  so  ill,  and  giving  it  one 
farewell  pat  and  squeeze,  she  turned  to  the  kind  old  lady  who  stood 
watching  her,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  her  neck,  silently  spoke 
her  gratitude  in  a  hearty  hug  and  kiss. 

"  Good-by,  ma'am,"  said  she  ;  "  I  may  come  and  see  them  some 
time  again,  and  see  you,  mayn't  I?" 

"  Indeed  you  shall,  my  darling,"  said  the  old  woman,  "just  as 
often  as  you  like ; — just  as  often  as  you  can  get  away.  I'll  make 
'Brahm  bring  you  home  sometimes.  'Brahm,  you'll  bring  her, 
won't  you?" 

"  There's  two  words  to  that  bargain,  mother,  I  can  tell  you ;  but 
if  I  don't,  I'll  know  the  reason  on't." 

And  away  they  went.  Ellen  drew  two  or  three  sighs  at  first,  but 
she  could  not  help  brightening  up  soon.  It  was  early — not  sun 
rise  ;  the  cool  freshness  of  the  air  was  enough  to  give  one  new  life 
and  spirit ;  the  sky  was  fair  and  bright ;  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  marched 
along  at  a  quick  pace.  Enlivened  by  the  exercise,  Ellen  speedily 
forgot  every  thing  disagreeable  ;  and  her  little  head  was  filled  with 
pleasant  things.  She  watched  where  the  silver  light  in  the  east 
foretold  the  sun's  coming.  She  watched  the  silver  change  to  gold, 
till  a  rich  yellow  tint  was  flung  over  the  whole  landscape  ;  and 
then  broke  the  first  rays  of  light  upon  the  tops  of  the  western  hills, 
— the  sun  was  up.  It  was  a  new  sight  to  Ellen. 

"  How  beautiful !     Oh,  how  beautiful !"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  in  his  slow  way,  "  it'll  be  a  fine  day 
for  the  field.  I  guess  I'll  go  with  the  oxen  over  to  that  'ere  big 
meadow." 

"Just  look,"  said  Ellen,  "how  the  light  comes  creeping  down  I  J 
the  side  of  the  mountain, — now  it  has  got  to  the  wood, — Oh,  do 
look  at  the  tops  of  the  trees  !     Oh,  I  wish  mamma  was  here." 

Mr.  Van-  Brunt  didn't  know  what  to  say  to  this.  He  rather 
wished  so  too,  for  her  sake. 

"  There,"  said  Ellen,  "  now  the  sunshine  is  on  the  fence,  and  the 
road,  and  every  thing.  I  wonder  what  is  the  reason  that  the  sun 
shines  first  upon  the  top  of  the  mountain,  and  then  comes  so  slowly 
down  the  side  ;  why  don't  it  shine  on  the  whole  at  once?" 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  shook  his  head  in  ignorance.  "  He  guessed  it 
always  did  so,"  he  said. 


132  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  suppose  it  does,  but  that's  the  very  thing, 
— I  want  to  know  the  reason  why.  And  I  noticed  just  now,  it 
shone  in  my  face  before  it  touched  my  hands.  Isn't  it  queer?" 

"  Humph  ! — there's  a  great  many  queer  things,  if  you  come  to 
that,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  philosophically. 

But  Ellen's  head  ran  on  from  one  thing  to  another,  and  her  next 
question  was  not  so  wide  of  the  subject  as  her  companion  might 
have  thought. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  are  there  any  schools  about  here?" 

"  Schools ?"  said  the  person  addressed,  "yes — there's  plenty  of 
schools." 

"Good  ones?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  I  don't  exactly  know  about  that;  there's  Captain  Conk- 
lin's,  that  had  ought  to  be  a  good  'un  ;  he's  a  regular  smart  man, 
they  say." 

"  Whereabouts  is  that?"   said  Ellen. 

"  His  school  ?  it's  a  mile  or  so  the  other  side  of  my  house." 

"  And  how  far  is  it  from  your  house  to  aunt  Fortune's  ?" 

"  A  good  deal  better  than  two  mile,  but  we'll  be  there  before 
long.  You  ain't  tired,  be  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen.  But  this  reminder  gave  a  new  turn  to  her 
thoughts,  and  her  spirits  were  suddenly  checked.  Her  former 
brisk  and  springing  step  changed  to  so  slow  and  lagging  a  one,  that 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  more  than  once  repeated  his  remark  that  he  saw 
she  was  tired. 

If  it  was  that,  Ellen  grew  tired  very  fast;  she  lagged  more 
and  more  as  they  neared  the  house,  and  at  last  quite  fell  behind, 
and  allowed  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  go  in  first. 

Miss  Fortune  was  busy  about  the  breakfast,  and  as  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
afterwards  described  it,  "  looking  as  if  she  could  have  bitten  off  a 
tenpenny  nail,"  and  indeed  as  if  the  operation  would  have  been 
rather  gratifying  than  otherwise.  She  gave  them  no  notice  at  first, 
bustling  to  and  fro  with  great  energy,  but  all  of  a  sudden  she 
brought  up  directly  in  front  of  Ellen,  and  said, 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  home  last  night  ?" 

The  words  were  jerked  out  rather  than  spoken. 

"  I  got  wet  in  the  brook,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  was 
so  kind  as  to  keep  me." 

"  Which  way  did  you  go  out  of  the  house  yesterday?" 

"  Through  the  front  door." 

"  The  front  door  was  locked." 

"  I  unlocked  it." 

"  What  did  you  go  out  that  way  for?" 

"  I  didn't  want  to  come  this  way." 

"Why  not?" 

Ellen  hesitated. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  133 

"  Why  not  ?"  demanded  Miss  Fortune  still  more  emphatically 
than  before. 

"I  did't  want  to  see  you,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  flushing. 

"  If  ever  you  do  so  again  !"  said  Miss  Fortune  in  a  kind  of  cold 
fury  ;  "  I've  a  great  mind  to  whip  you  for  this,  as  ever  I  had  to  eat." 

The  flush  faded  on  Ellen's  cheek,  and  a  shiver  visibly  passed 
over  her — not  from  fear.  She  stood  with  downcast  eyes  and  com 
pressed  lips,  a  certain  instinct  of  childish  dignity  warning  her  to 
be  silent.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  put  himself  in  between. 

"  Come,  come  !"  said  he,  "this  is  getting  to  be  too  much  of  a 
good  thing.  Beat  your  cream,  ma'am,  as  much  as  you  like,  or  if 
you  want  to  try  your  hand  on  something  else  you'll  have  to  take 
me  first,  I  promise  you." 

"  Now  don't  you  meddle,  Van  Brunt,"  said  the  lady  sharply, 
"with  what  ain't  no  business  o'  yourn." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — "maybe  it 
is  my  business ;  but  meddle  or  no  meddle,  Miss  Fortune,  it  is  time 
for" me  to  be  in  the  field  ;  and  if  you  ha' n't  no  better  breakfast  for 
Miss  Ellen  and  me  than  all  this  here,  we'll  just  go  right  away  hum 
again  ;  but  there's  something  in  your  kettle  there  that  smells  un 
commonly  nice,  and  I  wish  you'd  just  let  us  have  it  and  no  more 
words." 

No  more  words  did  Miss  Fortune  waste  on  any  one  that  morn 
ing.  She  went  on  with  her  work  and  dished  up  the  breakfast  in 
silence,  and  with  a  face  that  Ellen  did  not  quite  understand ;  only 
she  thought  she  had  never  in  her  life  seen  one  so  disagreeable. 
The  meal  was  a  very  solemn  and  uncomfortable  one.  Ellen  could 
scarcely  swallow,  and  her  aunt  was  near  in  the  same  condition. 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  the  old  lady  alone  despatched  their  breakfast 
as  usual ;  with  no  other  attempts  at  conversation  than  the  com 
mon  mumbling  on  the  part  of  the  latter,  which  nobody  minded, 
and  one  or  two  strange  grunts  from  the  former,  the  meaning  of 
which,  if  they  had  any,  nobody  tried  to  find  out. 

There  was  a  breach  now  between  Ellen  and  her  aunt  that 
neither  could  make  any  effort  to  mend.  Miss  Fortune  did  not 
renew  the  disagreeable  conversation  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had 
broken  off ;  she  left  Ellen  entirely  to  herself,  scarcely  speaking  to 
her,  or  seeming  to  know  when  she  went  out  or  came  in.  And  this 
lasted  day  after  day.  Wearily  they  passed.  After  one  or  two, 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  seemed  to  stand  just  where  he  did  before  in  Miss 
Fortune's  good  graces; — but  not  Ellen.  To  her,  when  others 
were  not  by,  her  face  wore  constantly  something  of  the  same  cold, 
hard,  disagreeable  expression  it  had  put  on  after  Mr.  Van  Brunt's 
interference, — a  look  that  Ellen  came  to  regard  with  absolute  ab 
horrence.  She  kept  away  by  herself  as  much  as  she  could ;  but 
she  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  her  time,  and  for  want  of  some- 

12 


134  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

tiling  better  often  spent  it  in  tears.  She  went  to  bed  cheerless 
night  after  night,  and  arose  spiritless  morning  after  morning ;  and 
this  lasted  till  Mr.  Van  Brunt  more  than  once  told  his  mother  that 
"that  poor  little  thing  was  going  wandering  about  like  a  ghost, 
and  growing  thinner  and  paler  every  day  ;  and  he  didn't  know  what 
she  would  come  to  if  she  went  on  so," 

Ellen  longed  now  for  a  letter  with  unspeakable  longing, — but 
none  came  ; — day  after  day  brought  new  disappointment,  each  day 
more  hard  to  bear.  Of  her  only  friend,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  she 
saw  little ;  he  was  much  away  in  the  fields  during  the  fine 
weather,  and  when  it  rained  Ellen  herself  was  prisoner  at 
home,  whither  he  never  came  but  at  meal  times.  The  old  grand 
mother  was  very  much  disposed  to  make  much  of  her ;  but  Ellen 
shrank,  she  hardly  knew  why,  from  her  fond  caresses,  and  never 
found  herself  alone  with  her  if  she  could  help  it ;  for  then  she 
was  regularly  called  to  the  old  lady's  side  and  obliged  to  go 
through  a  course  of  kissing,  fondling,  and  praising,  she  would 
gladly  have  escaped.  In  her  aunt's  presence  this  was  seldom 
attempted,  and  never  permitted  to  go  on.  Miss  Fortune  was  sure 
to  pull  Ellen  away  and  bid  her  mother  "  stop  that  palavering," — 
avowing  that  "  it  made  her  sick."  Ellen  had  one  faint  hope  that 
her  aunt  would  think  of  sending  her  to  school,  as  she  employed 
her  in  nothing  at  home,  and  certainly  took  small  delight  in  her 
company;  but  no  hint  of  the  kind  dropped  from  Miss  Fortune's 
lips ;  and  Ellen's  longing  look  for  this  as  well  as  for  a  word  from 
her  mother  was  daily  doomed  to  be  ungratified  and  to  grow  more 
keen  by  delay. 

One  pleasure  only  remained  to  Ellen  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
and  that  one  she  enjoyed  with  the  carefulness  of  a  miser.  It  was 
seeing  the  cows  milked,  morning  and  evening.  For  this  she  got 
up  very  early  and  watched  till  the  men  came  for  the  pails ;  and 
then  away  she  bounded  out  of  the  house  and  to  the  barnyard. 
There  were  the  milky  mothers,  five  in  number,  standing  about, 
each  in  her  own  corner  of  the  yard  or  cowhouse,  waiting  to  be  re 
lieved  of  their  burden  of  milk.  They  were  fine  gentle  animals,  in 
excellent  condition,  and  looking  every  way  happy  and  comfortable  \ 
nothing  living  under  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  care  was  ever  suffered  to 
look  otherwise.  He  was  always  in  the  barn  or  barnyard  at  milk 
ing  time,  and  under  his  protection  Ellen  felt  safe  and  looked  on  at 
her  ease.  It  was  a  very  pretty  scene — at  least  she  thought  so. 
The  gentle  cows  standing  quietly  to  be  milked  as  if  they  enjoyed 
it,  and  munching  the  cud ;  and  the  white  stream  of  milk  foaming 
into  the  pails ;  then  there  was  the  interest  of  seeing  whether  Sam 
or  Johnny  would  get  through  first ;  and  how  near  Jane  or  Dolly 
would  come  to  rivalling  Streaky's  fine  pailful ;  and  at  last  Ellen 
allowed  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  teach  herself  how  to  milk.  She  began 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


135 


with  trembling,  but  learnt  fast  enough  ;  and  more  than  one  pailful 
of  milk  that  Miss  Fortune  strained  had  been,  unknown  to  her, 
drawn  by  Ellen's  fingers.  These  minutes  in  the  farmyard  were  the 
pleasantest  in  Ellen's  day.  While  they  lasted  every  care  was  for 
gotten  and  her  little  face  was  as  bright  as  the  morning ;  but  the 
milking  was  quickly  over,  and  the  cloud  gathered  on  Ellen's  brow 
almost  as  soon  as  the  shadow  of  the  house  fell  upon  it. 


"Where  is  the  post-office,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?"  she  asked  one 
morning,  as  she  stood  watching  the  sharpening  of  an  axe  upon  the 
grindstone.  The  axe  was  in  that  gentleman's  hand,  and  its  edge 
carefully  laid  to  the  whirling-stone,  which  one  of  the  farm-boys 
was  turning. 

"  Where  is  the  post-office?  Why,  over  to  Thirl  wall  to  be  sure," 
replied  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  glancing  up  at  her  from  his  work. — 
"  Faster,  Johnny." 

"  And  how  often  do  the  letters  come  here  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Take  care,  Johnny  ! — some  more  water, — mind  your  business, 
will,  you  ! — Just  as  often  as  I  go  to  fetch  'em,  Miss  Ellen,  and  no 
often  er." 

"And  how  often  do  you  go,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 


136  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Only  when  I've  some  other  errand  Miss  Ellen ;  my  grain 
would  never  be  in  the  barn  if  I  was  running  to  the  post-office 
every  other  thing, — and  for  what  ain't  there  too.  I  don't  get  a 
letter  but  two  or  three  times  a  year  I  s'pose,  though  I  call, — I 
guess,  —half  a  dozen  times." 

"  Ah  but  there's  one  there  now,  or  soon  will  be,  I  know,  for 
me,"  said  Ellen.  "  When  do  you  think  you  will  go  again,  Mr. 
Van  Brunt?" 

"  Now  if  I'd  ha'  knowed  that  I'd  ha'  gone  to  Thirl  wall  yester 
day — I  was  within  a  mile  of  it.  I  don't  see  as  I  can  go  this  week 
anyhow  in  the  world;  but  I'll  make  some  errand  there  the  first 
day  I  can,  Miss  Ellen,  that  you  may  depend  on.  You  shan't  wait 
for  your  letter  a  bit  longer  than  I  can  help." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt — you're  very  kind.  Then  the 
letters  never  come  except  when  you  go  after  them  ?" 

"No; — yes — they  do  come  once  in  a  while  by  old  Mr.  Swaim, 
but  he  ha' n't  been  here  this  great  while." 

"  And  who's  he?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  queer  old  chip  that  goes  round  the  country  on  all 
sorts  of  errands;  he  comes  along  once  in  awhile.  That'll  do, 
Johnny, — I  believe  this  here  tool  is  as  sharp  as  I  have  any  occa 
sion  for." 

"  What's  the  use  of  pouring  water  upon  the  grindstone?"  said 
Ellen  ;  "  why  wouldn't  it  do  as  well  dry  ?" 

"I  can't  tell,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  who  was 
slowly  drawing  his  thumb  over  the  edge  of  the  axe  ;  "  your  ques 
tions  are  a  good  deal  too  sharp  for  me,  Miss  Ellen ;  I  only  know 
it  would  spoil  the  axe,  or  the  grindstone,  or  both  most  likely." 

"It's  very  odd,"  said  Ellen,  thoughtfully;  "I  wish  I  knew 
every  thing.  But,  oh  dear  !  I  am  not  likely  to  know  any  thing," 
said  she,  her  countenance  suddenly  changing  from  its  pleased  in 
quisitive  look  to  a  cloud  of  disappointment  and  sorrow.  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  noticed  the  change. 

"  Ain't  your  aunt  going  to  send  you  to  school,  then  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen,  sighing  ;  "  she  never  speaks  about 
it,  nor  about  anything  else.  But  I  declare  I'll  make  her!"  she 
exclaimed,  changing  again.  "  I'll  go  right  in  and  ask  her,  and  then 
she'll  have  to  tell  me.  I  will !  I  am  tired  of  living  so.  I'll  know 
what  she  means  to  do,  and  then  I  can  tell  what  /must  do." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt,  seemingly  dubious  about  the  success  of  this  line 
of  conduct,  stroked  his  chin  and  his  axe  alternately  two  or  three 
times  in  silence,  and  finally  walked  off.  Ellen,  without  waiting 
for  her  courage  to  cool,  went  directly  into  the  house. 

Miss  Fortune,  however,  was  not  in  the  kitchen ;  to  follow  her 
into  her  secret  haunts,  the  dairy,  cellar,  or  lower  kitchen  was  not 
to  be  thought  of.  Ellen  waited  awhile,  but  her  aunt  did  not  come, 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  137 

and  the  excitement  of  the  moment  cooled  down.  She  was  not 
quite  so  ready  to  enter  upon  the  business  as  she  had  felt  at  first ; 
she  had  even  some  qualms  about  it. 

"  But  I'll  do  it,"  said  Ellen  to  herself;  "  it  will  be  hard,  but  I'll 
doit!" 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

For  my  part,  he  keeps  me  here  rustically 
At  home,  or,  to  speak  more  properly,  stays 
Me  here  at  home  unkept. 

As  You  LIKE  IT. 

THE  next  morning  after  breakfast  Ellen  found  the  chance  she 
rather  dreaded  than  wished  for.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  gone  out ; 
the  old  lady  had  not  left  her  room,  and  Miss  Fortune  was  quietly 
seated  by  the  fire,  busied  with  some  mysteries  of  cooking.  Like 
a  true  coward,  Ellen  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  bolt  at  once 
into  the  thick  of  the  matter,  but  thought  to  come  to  it  gradually, 
— always  a  bad  way. 

"  What  is  that,  aunt  Fortune  ?"  said  she,  after  she  had  watched 
her  with  a  beating  heart  for  about  five  minutes. 

"What  is  what?" 

"  I  mean,  what  is  that  you  are  straining  through  the  colander 
into  that  jar?" 

"Hop-water." 

"What  is  it  for?" 

"I'm  scalding  this  meal  with  it  to  make  turnpikes." 

"Turnpikes!"  said  Ellen;  "I  thought  turnpikes  were  high, 
smooth  roads  with  toll-gates  every  now  and  then — that's  what 
mamma  told  me  they  were." 

"  That's  all  the  kind  of  turnpikes  your  mamma  knew  any  thing 
about,  I  reckon,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  in  a  tone  that  conveyed  the 
notion  that  Mrs.  Montgomery's  education  had  been  very  incom 
plete.  "  And  indeed,"  she  added  immediately  after,  "if  she  had 
made  more  turnpikes  and  paid  fewer  tolls,  it  would  have  been  just 
as  well,  I'm  thinking." 

Ellen  felt  the  tone,  if  she  did  not  thoroughly  understand  the 
words.  She  was  silent  a  moment;  then  remembering  her  purpose, 
she  began  again. 

"  What  are  these  then,  aunt  Fortune  ?" 

"  Cakes,  child,  cakes  ! — turnpike  cakes — what  I  raise  the  bread 
with." 

"  What,  those  little  brown  cakes  I  have  seen  you  melt  in  water 
and  mix  in  the  flour  when  you  make  bread?" 

12* 


138  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"Mercy  on  us!  yes!  you've  seen  hundreds  of  'em  since  you've 
been  here  if  you  never  saw  one  before." 

"I  never  did,"  said  Ellen.  "  But  what  are  they  called  turn 
pikes  for?" 

"  The  land  knows ! — I  don't.  For  mercy's  sake  stop  asking  me 
questions,  Ellen;  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  you;  you'll  drive 
me  crazy." 

"  But  there's  one  more  question  I  want  to  ask  very  much,"  said 
Ellen,  with  her  heart  beating. 

"  Well,  ask  it  then  quick,  and  have  done,  and  take  yourself  off. 
I  have  other  fish  to  fry  than  to  answer  all  your  questions." 

Miss  Fortune,  however,  was  still  quietly  seated  by  the  fire  stir 
ring  her  meal  and  hop-water,  and  Ellen  could  not  be  quick ;  the 
words  stuck  in  her  throat, — came  out  at  last. 

"  Aunt  Fortune,  I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  I  may  go  to  school  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Ellen's  heart  sprang  with  a  feeling  of  joy,  a  little  qualified  by 
the  peculiar  dry  tone  in  which  the  word  was  uttered. 

"When  may  I  go?" 

"  As  soon  as  you  like." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  ma'am.  To  which  school  shall  I  go,  aunt  For 
tune  ?" 

"  To  whichever  you  like." 

"  But  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  them,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  how 
can  I  tell  which  is  best?" 

Miss  Fortune  was  silent. 

"  What  schools  are  there  near  here  ?"   said  Ellen. 

"  There's  Captain  Conklin's  down  at  the  Cross,  and  Miss  Emer 
son's  at  Thirlwall." 

Ellen  hesitated.  The  name  was  against  her,  but  nevertheless 
she  concluded  on  the  whole  that  the  lady's  school  would  be  the 
pleasantest. 

"Is  Miss  Emerson  any  relation  of  yours?"   she  asked. 

"No." 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  go  to  her  school  the  best.  I  will  go 
there  if  you  will  let  me, — may  I?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  I  will  begin  next  Monday, — may  I?" 

"Yes." 

Ellen  wished  exceedingly  that  her  aunt  would  speak  in  some 
other  tone  of  voice ;  it  was  a  continual  damper  to  her  rising  hopes. 

"I'll  get  my  books  ready,"  said  she, — "and  look  'em  over  a 
little  too,  I  guess.  But  what  will  be  the  best  way  for  me  to  go, 
aunt  Fortune  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  I  couldn't  walk  so  far,  could  I?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD  139 

"You  know  best." 

"I  couldn't  I  am  sure,"  said  Ellen; — "it's  four  miles  to  Thirl, 
wall,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  said ;  that  would  be  too  much  for  me  to  walk 
twice  a  day;  and  I  should  be  afraid  besides." 

A  dead  silence. 

"But  aunt  Fortune,  do  please  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do.  How 
can  I  know  unless  you  tell  me  ?  What  way  is  there  that  I  can  go 
to  school?" 

"  It  is  unfortunate  that  I  don't  keep  a  carriage,"  said  Miss  For 
tune, — "  but  Mr.  Van  Brunt  can  go  for  you  morning  and  evening 
in  the  ox-cart,  if  that  will  answer." 

"  The  ox-cart !  But  dear  me  !  it  would  take  him  all  day,  aunt 
Fortune.  It  takes  hours  and  hours  to  go  and  come  with  the  oxen ; 
— Mr.  Van  Brunt  wouldn't  have  time  to  do  any  thing  but  carry 
me  to  school  and  bring  me  home." 

"  Of  course, — but  that's  of  no  consequence,"  said  Miss  Fortune, 
in  the  same  dry  tone. 

"Then  I  can't  go — there's  no  help  for  it,"  said  Ellen  despond- 
ingly.  "Why  didn't  you  say  so  before ?  When  you  said  yes  I 
thought  you  meant  yes." 

She  covered  her  face.  Miss  Fortune  rose  with  a  half  smile  and 
carried  her  jar  of  scalded  meal  into  the  pantry.  She  then  came  back 
and  commenced  the  operation  of  washing  up  the  breakfast  things. 

"  Ah,  if  I  only  had  a  little  pony,"  said  Ellen,  "  that  would  carry 
me  there  and  back,  and  go  trotting  about  with  me  everywhere, — 
how  nice  that  would  be  !" 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  very  nice  !  And  who  do  you  think  would 
go  trotting  about  after  the  pony  ?  I  suppose  you  would  leave  that 
to  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  and  I  should  have  to  go  trotting  about  after 
you,  to  pick  you  up  in  case  you  broke  your  neck  in  some  ditch  or 
gully  j — it  would  be  a  very  nice  affair  altogether  I  think." 

Ellen  was  silent.  Her  hopes  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  her 
disappointment  was  unsoothed  by  one  word  of  kindness  or  sym 
pathy.  With  all  her  old  grievances  fresh  in  her  mind,  she  sat 
thinking  her  aunt  was  the  very  most  disagreeable  person  she  ever 
had  the  misfortune  to  meet  with.  No  amiable  feelings  were 
working  within  her ;  and  the  cloud  on  her  brow  was  of  displeas 
ure  and  disgust,  as  well  as  sadness  and  sorrow.  Her  aunt  saw  it. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  said  she,  rather  sharply. 

"I  am  thinking,"  said  Ellen,  "I  am  very  sorry  I  cannot  go  to 
school." 

"  Why,  what  do  you  want  to  learn  so  much  ?  you  know  how  to 
read  and  write  and  cipher,  don't  you  ?" 

"Read  and  write  and  cipher?"  said  Ellen, — "to  be  sure  I  do; 
but  that's  nothing ; — that's  only  the  beginning." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  learn  besides?" 


140  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Oh,  a  great  many  things." 

"Well  what?" 

"  Oh,  a  great  many  things,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  French,  and  Italian, 
and  Latin,  and  music,  and  arithmetic  and  chemistry,  and  all  about 
animals  and  plants  and  insects, — I  forget  what  it's  called, — and — 
Oh,  I  can't  recollect;  a  great  many  things.  Every  now  and 
then  I  think  of  something  I  want  to  learn  ;  I  can't  remember 
them  now.  But  I'm  doing  nothing,"  said  Ellen  sadly, — "  learn 
ing  nothing — I  am  not  studying  and  improving  myself  as  I  meant 
to ;  mamma  will  be  disappointed  when  she  comes  back,  and  I 
meant  to  please  her  so  much !" 

The  tears  were  fast  coming ;  she  put  her  hand  upon  her  eyes  to 
force  them  back. 

"If  you  are  so  tired  of  being  idle,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "I'll 
warrant  I'll  give  you  something  to  do  ;  and  something  to  learn  too, 
that  you  want  enough  more  than  all  those  crinkumcrankums;  I 
wonder  what  good  they'd  ever  do  you!  That's  the  way  your 
mother  was  brought  up  I  suppose.  If  she  had  been  trained  to 
use  her  hands  and  do  something  useful  instead  of  thinking  herself 
above  it,  maybe  she  wouldn't  have  had  to  go  to  sea  for  her  health 
just  now;  it  doesn't  do  for  women  to  be  bookworms." 

"  Mamma  isn't  a  bookworm  !"  said  Ellen  indignantly  ; — "  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  ;  and  she  never  thinks  herself  above  being 
useful ;  it's  very  strange  you  should  say  so  when  you  don't  know 
any  thing  about  her." 

"  I  know  she  ha'n't  brought  you  up  to  know  manners,  anyhow," 
said  Miss  Fortune.  "  Look  here,  I'll  give  you  something  to  do, — 
just  you  put  those  plates  and  dishes  together  ready  for  washing, 
while  I  am  down  stairs." 

Ellen  obeyed,  unwillingly  enough.  She  had  neither  knowledge 
of  the  business  nor  any  liking  for  it ;  so  it  is  no  wonder  Miss 
Fortune  at  her  return  was  not  well  pleased. 

"  But  I  never  did  such  a  thing  before,"  said  Ellen. 

"  There  it  is  now  !"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "  I  wonder  where  your 
eyes  have  been  every  single  time  that  I  have  done  it  since  you 
have  been  here.  I  should  think  your  own  sense  might  have  told 
you!  But  you're  too  busy  learning  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  know 
what's  going  on  in  the  house.  Is  that  what  you  call  made  ready 
for  washing?  Now  just  have  the  goodness  to  scrape  every  plate 
clean  off  and  put  them  nicely  in  a  pile  here ;  and  turn  out  the 
slops  out  of  the  tea-cups  and  saucers  and  set  them  by  themselves. 
— Well !  what  makes  you  handle  them  so?  are  you  afraid  they'll 
burn  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  like  to  take  hold  of  things  people  have  drunk  out  of," 
said  Ellen,  who  was  indeed  touching  the  cups  and  saucers  very 
delicately  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  141 

"Look  here,"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "  don't  you  let  me  hear  no 
more  of  that,  or  I  vow  I'll  give  you  something  to  do  you  won't 
like.  Now  put  the  spoons  here,  and  the  knives  and  forks  together 
here ;  and  carry  the  salt-cellar  and  the  pepper-box  and  the  butter 
and  the  sugar  into  the  buttery." 

"  I  don't  know  where  to  put  them,"  said  Ellen. 

"Come  along,  then,  and  I'll  show  you ;  it's  time  you  did.  I 
reckon  you'll  feel  better  when  you've  something  to  do,  and  you 
shall  have  plenty.  There — put  them  in  that  cupboard,  and  set  the 
butter  up  here,  and  put  the  bread  in  this  box,  do  you  see  ?  now 
don't  let  me  have  to  show  you  twice  over." 

This  was  Ellen's  first  introduction  to  the  buttery  ;  she  had  never 
dared  to  go  in  there  before.  It  was  a  long,  light  closet  or  pantry, 
lined  on  the  left  side,  and  at  the  further  end,  with  wide  shelves 
up  to  the  ceiling.  On  these  shelves  stood  many  capacious  pans 
and  basins  of  tin  and  earthenware,  filled  with  milk,  and  most  of 
them  coated  with  superb  yellow  cream.  Midway  was  the  window, 
before  which  Miss  Fortune  was  accustomed  to  skirn  her  milk  ;  and 
at  the  side  of  it  was  the  mouth  of  a  wooden  pipe,  or  covered 
trough,  which  conveyed  the  refuse  milk  down  to  an  enormous 
hogshead  standing  at  the  lower  kitchen  door,  whence  it  was  drawn 
as  wanted  for  the  use  of  the  pigs.  Beyond  the  window  in  the 
buttery,  and  on  the  higher  shelves,  were  rows  of  yellow  cheeses ; 
forty  or  fifty  were  there  at  least.  On  the  right  hand  of  the  door 
was  the  cupboard,  and  a  short  range  of  shelves,  which  held  in 
ordinary  all  sorts  of  matters  for  the  table,  both  dishes  and  eatables. 
Floor  and  shelves  were  well  painted  with  thick  yellow  paint,  hard 
and  shining,  and  clean  as  could  be ;  and  there  was  a  faint  pleasant 
smell  of  dairy  things. 

Ellen  did  not  find  out  all  this  at  once,  but  in  the  course  of  a  day  or 
two,  during  which  her  visits  to  the  buttery  were  many.  Miss  Fortune 
kept  her  word,  and  found  her  plenty  to  do  ;  Ellen's  life  soon  became 
a  pretty  busy  one.  She  did  not  like  this  at  all ;  it  was  a  kind  of 
work  she  had  no  love  for ;  yet  no  doubt  it  was  a  good  exchange  for 
the  miserable  moping  life  she  had  lately  led.  Any  thing  was  better 
than  that.  One  concern,  however,  lay  upon  poor  Ellen's  mind  with 
pressing  weight, — her  neglected  studies  and  wasted  time ;  for  no 
better  than  wasted  she  counted  it.  "What  shall  I  do?"  she  said 
to  herself,  after  several  of  these  busy  days  had  passed ;  "  I  am 
doing  nothing — I  am  learning  nothing — I  shall  forget  all  I  have 
learnt,  directly.  At  this  rate  I  shall  not  know  any  more  than  all 
these  people  around  me  ;  and  what  will  mamma  say  ? — Well,  if  I 
can't  go  to  school  I  know  what  I  will  do,"  she  said,  taking  a  sudden 
resolve,  "  I'll  study  by  myself!  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  ;  it  will  be 
better  than  nothing,  any  way.  I'll  begin  this  very  day  !" 

With  new  life  Ellen  sprang  up  stairs  to  her  room,  and  forthwith 


142  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD 

began  pulling  all  the  things  out  of  her  trunk  to  get  at  her  books. 
They  were  at  the  very  bottom ;  and  by  the  time  she  had  reached 
them  half  the  floor  was  strewn  with  the  various  articles  of  her 
wardrobe ;  without  minding  them  in  her  first  eagerness,  Ellen 
pounced  at  the  books. 

"  Here  you  are,  my  dear  Numa  Pompilius,"  said  she,  drawing 
out  a  little  French  book  she  had  just  begun  to  read,  "  and  here  you 
are,  old  grammar  and  dictionary, — and  here  is  my  history, — very 
glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Goldsmith  ! — and  what  in  the  world's  this? — 
wrapped  up  as  if  it  was  something  great, — Oh,  my  expositor  ;  I  am 
not  glad  to  see  you,  I  am  sure  ;  never  want  to  look  at  your  face,  or 
your  back  again.  My  copy-book — I  wonder  who'll  set  copies  for 
me  now; — my  arithmetic,  that's  you! — geography  and  atlas — all 
right ; — and  my  slate  ;  but  dear  me  !  I  don't  believe  I've  such  a 
thing  as  a  slate-pencil  in  the  world  ;  where  shall  I  get  one,  I  wonder  ? 
— well,  I'll  manage.  And  that's  all, — that's  all,  I  believe." 

With  all  her  heart  Ellen  would  have  begun  her  studying  at  once, 
but  there  were  all  her  things  on  the  floor,  silently  saying,  "  Put  us 
up  first." 

"I  declare,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  it's  too  bad  to  have  nothing 
in  the  shape  of  a  bureau  to  keep  one's  clothes  in.  I  wonder  if  I 
am  to  live  in  a  trunk,  as  mamma  says,  all  the  time  I  am  here,  and 
have  to  go  down  to  the  bottom  of  it  every  time  I  want  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  or  a  pair  of  stockings.  How  I  do  despise  those  grey 
stockings! — But  what  can  I  do?  it's  too  bad  to  squeeze  my  nice 
things  up  so.  I  wonder  what  is  behind  those  doors.  I'll  find  out, 
I  know,  before  long." 

On  the  north  side  of  Ellen's  room  were  three  doors.  She  had 
never  opened  them,  but  now  took  it  into  her  head  to  see  what  was 
there,  thinking  she  might  possibly  find  what  would  help  her  out  of 
her  difficulty.  She  had  some  little  fear  of  meddling  with  any  thing 
in  her  aunt's  domain  ;  so  she  fastened  her  own  door,  to  guard  against 
interruption  while  she  was  busied  in  making  discoveries. 

At  the  foot  of  her  bed,  in  the  corner,  was  one  large  door  fastened 
by  a  button,  as  indeed  they  were  all.  This  opened,  she  found,  upon 
a  flight  of  stairs,  leading  as  she  supposed  to  the  garret,  but  Ellen 
did  not  care  to  go  up  and  see.  They  were  lighted  by  half  of  a 
large  window,  across  the  middle  of  which  the  stairs  went  up.  She 
quickly  shut  that  door,  and  opened  the  next,  a  little  one.  Here  she 
found  a  tiny  closet  under  the  stairs,  lighted  by  the  other  half  of  the 
window.  There  was  nothing  in  it  but  a  broad  low  shelf  or  step 
under  the  stairs,  where  Ellen  presently  decided  she  could  stow 
away  her  books  very  nicely.  "  It  only  wants  a  little  brushing  out," 
said  Ellen,  "  and  it  will  do  very  well."  The  other  door,  in  the 
other  corner,  admitted  her  to  a  large  light  closet,  perfectly  empty. 
"  Now  if  there  were  only  some  hooks  or  pegs  here,"  thought  Ellen, 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  143 

*  to  hang  up  dresses  on — but  why  shouldn't  I  drive  some  nails  ? — 
I  will !     I  will !     Oh,  that'll  be  fine." 

Unfastening  her  door  in  a  hurry,  she  ran  down  stairs,  and  her 
heart  beating,  between  pleasure  and  the  excitement  of  daring  so  far 
without  her  aunt's  knowledge,  she  ran  out  and  crossed  the  chip- 
yard  to  the  barn,  where  she  had  some  hope  of  finding  Mr.  Van 
Brunt.  By  the  time  she  got  to  the  little  cowhouse  door  a  great 
noise  of  knocking  or  pounding  in  the  barn  made  her  sure  he  was 
there,  and  she  went  on  to  the  lower  barn-floor.  There  he  was,  he 
and  the  two  farm  boys  (who,  by  the  by,  were  grown  men),  all  three 
threshing  wheat.  Ellen  stopped  at  the  door,  and  for  a  minute  for 
got  what  she  had  come  for  in  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  them.  The 
clean  floor  was  strewn  with  grain,  upon  which  the  heavy  flails  came 
down  one  after  another,  with  quick  regular  beat, — one — two — three 
— one — two — three, — keeping  perfect  time.  The  pleasant  sound 
could  be  heard  afar  off;  though,  indeed,  where  Ellen  stood  it  was 
rather  too  loud  to  be  pleasant.  Her  little  voice  had  no  chance  of 
being  heard ;  she  stood  still  and  waited.  Presently  Johnny  who 
was  opposite  caught  a  sight  of  her,  and  without  stopping  his  work, 
said  to  his  leader,  "Somebody  there  for  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt.". 
That  gentleman's  flail  ceased  its  motion,  then  he  threw  it  down, 
and  went  to  the  door  to  help  Ellen  up  the  high  step. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "have  you  come  out  to  see  what's  going 
on  ?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "I've  been  looking — but  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 
could  you  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  have  a  hammer  and  half-a-dozen 
nails?" 

"  A  hammer  and  half-a-dozen  nails  ; — come  this  way,"  said  he. 

They  went  out  of  the  barnyard  and  across  the  chip-yard  to  an 
outhouse  below  the  garden  and  not  far  from  the  spout,  called  the 
poultry-house ;  though  it  was  quite  as  much  the  property  of  the 
hogs,  who  had  a  regular  sleeping  apartment  there,  where  corn  was 
always  fed  out  to  the  fatting  ones.  Opening  a  kind  of  granary 
store-room,  where  the  corn  for  this  purpose  was  stored,  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  took  down  from  a  shelf  a  large  hammer  and  a  box  of  nails, 
and  asked  Ellen  what  size  she  wanted. 

"  Pretty  large." 

"So?" 

"  No,  a  good  deal  bigger  yet  I  should  like." 

"  *  A  good  deal  bigger  yet,' — who  wants  'em  ?" 

"  I  do,"  said  Ellen,  smiling. 

"  You  do  !  do  you  think  your  little  arms  can  manage  that  big 
hammer  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ;  I  guess  so  ;  I'll  try." 

"  Where  do  you  want  'em  driv  ?" 

"  Up  in  a  closet  in  my  room,"  said  Ellen,  speaking  as  softly  as 


144  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

if  she  had  feared  her  aunt  was  at  the  corner ;  "  I  want  'em  to  hang 
up  dresses  and  things." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  half  smiled,  and  put  up  the  hammer  and  nails 
on  the  shelf  again. 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,"  said  he  ; — "  you  can't  man 
age  them  big  things;  "I'll  put  'em  up  for  you  to-night  when  I 
come  in  to  supper." 

"But  I'm  afraid  she  won't  let  you,"  said  Ellen  doubtfully. 

"  Never  you  mind  about  that,"  said  he,  "  I'll  fix  it.  Maybe  we 
won't  ask  her." 

u  Oh,  thank  you!"  said  Ellen  joyfully,  her  face  recovering  its 
full  sunshine  in  answer  to  his  smile ;  and  clapping  her  hands  she 
ran  back  to  the  house,  while  more  slowly  Mr.  Van  Brunt  returned 
to  the  threshers.  Ellen  seized  dust-pan  and  brush  and  ran  up  to 
her  room  ;  and  setting  about  the  business  with  right  good  will,  she 
soon  had  her  closets  in  beautiful  order.  The  books,  writing-desk, 
and  work-box  were  then  bestowed  very  carefully  in  the  one ;  in  the 
other  her  coats  and  dresses  neatly  folded  up  in  a  pile  on  the  floor, 
waiting  till  the  nails  should  be  driven.  Then  the  remainder  of  her 
.things  were  gathered  up  from  the  floor  and  neatly  arranged  in  the 
trunk  again.  Having  done  all  this,  Ellen's  satisfaction  was  un 
bounded.  By  this  time  dinner  was  ready.  As  soon  after  dinner 
as  she  could  escape,  from  Miss  Fortune's  calls  upon  her,  Ellen  stole 
up  to  her  room  and  her  books,  and  began  work  in  earnest.  The 
whole  afternoon  was  spent  over  sums  and  verbs  and  maps  and  pages 
of  history.  A  little  before  tea,  as  Ellen  was  setting  the  table,  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  came  into  the  kitchen  with  a  bag  on  his  back. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?"  said  Miss  Fortune. 

"  A  bag  of  seed  corn." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?" 

"  Put  it  up  in  the  garret  for  safe  keeping." 

"  Set  it  down  in  the  corner  and  I'll  take  it  up  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am, — rather  go  myself,  if  it's  all  the  same  to 
you.  You  needn't  be  scared,  I've  left  my  shoes  at  the  door.  Miss 
Ellen,  I  believe  I've  got  to  go  through  your  room." 

Ellen  was  glad  to  run  before  to  hide  her  laughter.  When  they 
reached  her  room  Mr.  Van  Brunt  produced  a  hammer  out  of  the 
bag,  and  taking  a  handful  of  nails  from  his  pocket,  put  up  a  fine 
row  of  them  along  her  closet  wall ;  then  while  she  hung  up  her 
dresses  he  went  on  to  the  garret,  and  Ellen  heard  him  hammering 
there  too.  Presently  he  came  down  and  they  returned  to  the 
kitchen. 

"  What's  all  that  knocking?"  said  Miss  Fortune. 

"  I've  been  driving  some  nails,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  coolly. 

"Up  in  the  garret?" 

"  Yes,  and  in  Miss  Ellen's  closet;  she  said  she  wanted  some." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  145 

"  You  should  ha'  spoke  to  me  about  it,"  said  Miss  Fortune  to 
Ellen.  There  was  displeasure  enough  in  her  face ;  but  she  said  no 
more,  and  the  matter  blew  over  much  better  than  Ellen  had  feared. 

Ellen  steadily  pursued  her  plan  of  studying,  in  spite  of  some 
discouragements. 

A  letter  written  about  ten  days  after  gave  her  mother  an  account 
of  her  endeavours  and  of  her  success.  It  was  a  despairing  account. 
Ellen  complained  that  she  wanted  help  to  understand,  and  lacked 
time  to  study ;  that  her  aunt  kept  her  busy,  and,  she  believed,  took 
pleasure  in  breaking  her  off  from  her  books ;  and  she  bitterly  said 
her  mother  must  expect  to  find  an  ignorant  little  daughter  when 
she  came  home.  It  ended  with,  "  Oh,  if  I  could  just  see  you,  and 
kiss  you,  and  put  my  arms  round  you,  mamma,  I'd  be  willing  to 
die!" 

This  letter  was  despatched  the  next  morning  by  Mr.  Van  Brunt ; 
and  Ellen  waited  and  watched  with  great  anxiety  for  his  return  from 
Thirlwall  in  the  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  XY. 

An  ant  dropped  into  the  water  j  a  wood-pigeon  took  pity  of  her  and  threw  her 
a  little  bough. — L'ESTRANGE. 

THE  afternoon  was  already  half  spent  when  Mr.  Van  Brunt's 
ox-cart  was  seen  returning.  Ellen  was  standing  by  the  little  gate 
that  opened  on  the  chip-yard  ;  and  with  her  heart  beating  anxiously 
she  watched  the  slow-corning  oxen  ; — how  slowly  they  came  !  At 
last  they  turned  out  of  the  lane  and  drew  the  cart  up  the  ascent ; 
and  stopping  beneath  the  apple-tree  Mr.  Van  Brunt  leisurely  got 
down,  and  flinging  back  his  whip  came  to  the  gate.  But  the  little 
face  that  met  him  there,  quivering  with  hope  and  fear,  made  his 
own  quite  sober.  "I'm  really  very  sorry,  Miss  Ellen, — "  he 
began. 

That  was  enough.  Ellen  waited  to  hear  no  more,  but  turned 
away,  the  cold  chill  of  disappointment  coming  over  her  heart.  She 
had  borne  the  former  delays  pretty  well,  but  this  was  one  too  many, 
and  she  felt  sick.  She  went  round  to  the  front  stoop,  where  scarcely 
ever  any  body  came,  and  sitting  down  on  the  steps  wept  sadly  and 
despairingly. 

It  might  have  been  half  an  hour  or  more  after,  that  the  kitchen 

door  slowly  opened  and  Ellen  came  in.     Wishing  her  aunt  should 

not  see  her  swollen   eyes,  she  was  going  quietly  through   to  her 

own  room  when  Miss  Fortune  called  her.     Ellen  stopped,      Miss 

o        k  13 


146  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Fortune  was  sitting  before  the  fire  with  an  open  letter  lying  in  her 
lap  and  another  in  her  hand.  The  latter  she  held  out  to  Ellen, 
saying  "  Here,  child,  come  and  take  this." 

"  What  is  it?"  said  Ellen,  slowly  coming  toward  her. 

"Don't  you  see  what  it  is?"  said  Miss  Fortune,  still  holding  it 
out. 

"  But  who  is  it  from  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Your  mother." 

"  A  letter  from  mamma,  and  not  to  me !"  said  Ellen  with 
changing  colour.  She  took  it  quick  from  her  aunt's  hand.  But 
her  colour  changed  more  as  her  eye  fell  upon  the  first  words, "  My 
dear  Ellen,"  and  turning  the  paper  she  saw  upon  the  back,  "  Miss 
Ellen  Montgomery."  Her  next  look  was  to  her  aunt's  face,  with 
her  eye  fired  and  her  cheek  paled  with  anger,  and  when  she  spoke 
her  voice  was  not  the  same. 

"  This  is  my  letter,"  she  said  trembling  ; — u  who  opened  it?" 

Miss  Fortune's  conscience  must  have  troubled  her  a  little,  for 
her  eye  wavered  uneasily.  Only  for  a  second  though. 

"  Who  opened  it?"  she  answered;  "/opened  it.  I  should  like 
to  know  who  has  a  better  right.  And  I  shall  open  every  one  that 
comes  to  serve  you  for  looking  so ; — that  you  may  depend  upon." 

The  look  and  the  words  and  the  injury  together,  fairly  put 
Ellen  beside  herself.  She  dashed  the  letter  to  the  ground,  and 
livid  and  trembling  with  various  feelings — rage  was  not  the  only 
one, — she  ran  from  her  aunt's  presence.  She  did  not  shed  any 
tears  now ;  she  could  not ;  they  were  absolutely  burnt  up  by  pas 
sion.  She  walked  her  room  with  trembling  steps,  clasping  and 
wringing  her  hands  now  and  then,  wildly  thinking  what  could  she 
do  to  get  out  of  this  dreadful  state  of  things,  and  unable  to  see 
any  thing  but  misery  before  her.  She  walked,  for  she  could  not 
sit  down ;  but  presently  she  felt  that  she  could  not  breathe  the  air 
of  the  house ;  and  taking  her  bonnet  she  went  down,  passed 
through  the  kitchen  and  went  out.  Miss  Fortune  asked  where  she 
was  going,  and  bade  her  stay  within  doors,  but  Ellen  paid  no 
attention  to  her. 

She  stood  still  a  moment  outside  the  little  gate.  She  might 
have  stood  long  to  look.  The  mellow  light  of  an  Indian-summer 
afternoon  lay  upon  the  meadow  and  the  old  barn  and  chip-yard  ; 
there  was  beauty  in  them  all  under  its  smile.  Not  a  breath  was 
stirring.  The  rays  of  the  sun  struggled  through  the  blue  haze, 
which  hung  upon  the  hills  and  softened  every  distant  object;  and 
the  silence  of  nature  all  around  was  absolute,  made  more  notice 
able  by  the  far-off  voice  of  somebody,  it  might  be  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 
calling  to  his  oxen,  very  far  off  and  not  to  be  seen ;  the  sound 
came  softly  to  her  ear  through  the  stillness.  "  Peace,"  was  the 
whisper  of  nature  to  her  troubled  child;  but  Ellen's  heart  was  in 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  147 

a  whirl ;  she  could  not  hear  the  whisper.  It  was  a  relief  however 
to  be  out  of  the  house  and  in  the  sweet  open  air.  Ellen  breathed 
more  freely,  and  pausing  a  moment  there,  and  clasping  her  hands 
together  once  more  in  sorrow,  she  went  down  the  road  and  out  at 
the  gate,  and  exchanging  her  quick  broken  step  for  a  slow 
measured  one,  she  took  the  way  toward  Thirl  wall.  Little  regard 
ing  the  loveliness  which  that  day  was  upon  every  slope  and  road 
side,  Ellen  presently  quitted  the  Thirlwall  road  and  half  uncon 
sciously  turned  into  a  path  on  the  left  which  she  had  never  taken 
before, — perhaps  for  that  reason.  It  was  not  much  travelled 
evidently ;  the  grass  grew  green  on  both  sides  and  even  in  the 
middle  of  the  way,  though  here  and  there  the  track  of  wheels 
could  be  seen.  Ellen  did  not  care  about  where  she  was  going ; 
she  only  found  it  pleasant  to  walk  on  and  get  further  from  home. 
The  road  or  lane  led  toward  a  mountain  somewhat  to  the  north 
west  of  Miss  Fortune's ;  the  same  which  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had 
once  named  to  Ellen  as  "the  Nose."  After  three  quarters  of  an 
hour  the  road  began  gently  to  ascend  the  mountain,  rising  toward 
the  north.  About  one-third  of  the  way  from  the  bottom  Ellen 
came  to  a  little  foot-path  on  the  left  which  allured  her  by  its 
promise  of  prettiness,  and  she  forsook  the  lane  for  it.  The 
promise  was  abundantly  fulfilled ;  it  was  a  most  lovely  wild  wood- 
way  path ;  but  withal  not  a  little  steep  and  rocky.  Ellen  began 
to  grow  weary.  The  lane  went  on  toward  the  north ;  the  path 
rather  led  off  toward  the  southern  edge  of  the  mountain,  rising 
all  the  while ;  but  before  she  reached  that  Ellen  came  to  what  she 
thought  a  good  resting-place,  where  the  path  opened  upon  a  small 
level  platform  or  ledge  of  the  hill.  The  mountain  rose  steep 
behind  her,  and  sank  very  steep  immediately  before  her,  leaving  a 
very  superb  view  of  the  open  country  from  the  northeast  to  the 
southeast.  Carpeted  with  moss,  and  furnished  with  fallen  stones 
and  pieces  of  rock,  this  was  a  fine  resting-place  for  the  wayfarer, 
or  loitering  place  for  the  lover  of  nature.  Ellen  seated  herself  on 
one  of  the  stones,  and  looked  sadly  and  wearily  toward  the  east,  at 
first  very  careless  of  the  exceeding  beauty  of  what  she  beheld  there. 
For  miles  and  miles,  on  every  side  but  the  west,  lay  stretched 
before  her  a  beautifully  broken  country.  The  November  haze 
hung  over  it  now  like  a  thin  veil,  giving  great  sweetness  and  soft 
ness  to  the  scene.  Far  in  the  distance  a  range  of  low  hills  showed 
like  a  misty  cloud;  near  by,  at  the  mountain's  foot,  the  fields  and 
farm-houses  a  d  roads  lay  a  pictured  map.  About  a  mile  and  a 
half  to  the  south  rose  the  mountain  where  Nancy  Vawse  lived, 
craggy  and  bare ;  but  the  leafless  trees  and  stern  jagged  rocks  were 
wrapped  in  the  haze ;  and  through  this  the  sun,  now  near  the  set 
ting,  threw  his  mellowing  rays,  touching  every  slope  and  ridge  with 
a  rich  warm  glow. 


148  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Poor  Ellen  did  not  heed  the  picturesque  effect  of  all  this,  yet 
the  sweet  influences  of  nature  reached  her,  and  softened  while  they 
increased  her  sorrow.  She  felt  her  own  heart  sadly  out  of  tune  with 
the  peace  and  loveliness  of  all  she  saw.  Her  eye  sought  those 
distant  hills, — how  very  far  off  they  were  !  and  yet  all  that  wide 
tract  of  country  was  but  a  little  piece  of  what  lay  between  her  and 
her  mother.  Her  eye  sought  those  hills, — but  her  mind  over 
passed  them  and  went  far  beyond,  over  many  such  a  tract,  till  it 
reached  the  loved  one  at  last.  But  oh  !  how  much  between  !  "I 
cannot  reach  her! — she  cannot  reach  me!"  thought  poor  Ellen. 
Her  eyes  had  been  filling  and  dropping  tears  for  some  time,  but 
now  came  the  rush  of  the  pent-up  storm,  and  the  floods  of  grief 
were  kept  back  no  longer. 

When  once  fairly  excited,  Ellen's  passions  were  always  extreme. 
During  the  former  peaceful  and  happy  part  of  her  life  the  occa 
sions  of  such  excitement  had  been  very  rare.  Of  late  unhappily 
they  had  occurred  much  oftener.  Many  were  the  bitter  fits  of  tears 
she  had  known  within  a  few  weeks.  But  now  it  seemed  as  if  all 
the  scattered  causes  of  sorrow  that  had  wrought  those  tears  were 
gathered  together  and  pressing  upon  her  at  once ;  and  that  the 
burden  would  crush  her  to  the  earth.  To  the  earth  it  brought  her 
literally.  She  slid  from  her  seat  at  first,  and  embracing  the  stone 
on  which  she  had  sat,  she  leaned  her  head  there ;  but  presently  in 
her  agony  quitting  her  hold  of  that,  she  cast  herself  down  upon 
the  moss,  lying  at  full  length  upon  the  cold  ground,  which  seemed 
to  her  childish  fancy  the  best  friend  she  had  left.  But  Ellen 
was  wrought  up  to  the  last  pitch  of  grief  and  passion.  Tears 
brought  no  relief.  Convulsive  weeping  only  exhausted  her.  In 
the  extremity  of  her  distress  and  despair,  and  in  that  lonely  place, 
out  of  hearing  of  every  one,  she  sobbed  aloud,  and  even  screamed, 
for  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life ;  and  these  fits  of  violence  were 
succeeded  by  exhaustion,  during  which  shj  ceased  to  shed  tears  and 
lay  quite  still,  drawing  only  long  sobbing  sighs  now  and  then. 

How  long  Ellen  had  lain  there,  or  how  long  this  would  have  gone 
on  before  her  strength  had  been  quite  worn  out,  no  one  can  tell. 
In  one  of  these  fits  of  forced  quiet,  when  she  lay  as  still  as  the 
rocks  around  her,  she  heard  a  voice  close  by  say,  "What  is  the 
matter,  my  child  ?" 

The  silver  sweetness  of  the  tone  came  singularly  upon  the  tem 
pest  in  Ellen's  mind.  She  got  up  hastily,  and  brushing  away  the 
tears  from  her  dimmed  eyes,  she  saw  a  young  lady  standing  there, 
and  a  face  whose  sweetness  well  matched  the  voice  looking  upon 
her  with  grave  concern.  She  stood  motionless  and  silent. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear?" 

The  tone  found  Ellen's  heart  and  brought  the  water  to  her  eyes 
again,  though  with  a  difference.  She  covered  her  face  with  her 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


149 


hands.  But  gentle  hands  were  placed  upon  hers  and  drew  them 
away  j  and  the  lady  sitting  down  on  Ellen's  stone,  took  her  in  her 
arms ;  and  Ellen  hid  her  face  in  the  bosom  of  a  better  friend  than 
the  cold  earth  had  been  like  to  prove  her.  But  the  change  over 
came  her;  and  the  soft  whisper,  "  Don't  cry  any  more,"  made  it 
impossible  to  stop  crying.  Nothing  further  was  said  for  some  time  ; 


the  lady  waited  till  Ellen  grew  calmer.  When  she  saw  her  able  to 
answer,  she  said  gently, 

"  What  does  all  this  mean,  my  child  ?  What  troubles  you  ? 
Tell  me,  and  I  think  we  can  find  a  way  to  mend  matters." 

Ellen  answered  the  tone  of  voice  with  a  faint  smile,  but  the 
Words  with  another  gush  of  tears. 


13* 


150  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"You  are  Ellen  Montgomery,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  I  thought  so.  This  isn't  the  first  time  I  have  seen  you ;  I 
have  seen  you  once  before." 

Ellen  looked  up  surprised. 

"  Have  you,  ma'am  ? — I  am  sure  I  have  never  seen  you." 

"  No,  I  know  that.  I  saw  you  when  you  didn't  see  me.  Where 
do  you  think?" 

"  I  can't  tell,  I  am  sure,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  can't  guess ;  I  haven't 
seen  you  at  aunt  Fortune's,  and  I  haven't  been  anywhere  else." 

"  You  have  forgotten,"  said  the  lady.  "  Did  you  never  hear  of 
a  little  girl  who  went  to  take  a  walk  once  upon  a  time,  and  had  an 
unlucky  fall  into  a  brook  ? — and  then  went  to  a  kind  old  lady's 
house  where  she  was  dried  and  put  to  bed  and  went  to  sleep." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Ellen.  "Did  you  see  me  there,  ma'am,  and 
when  I  was  asleep?" 

"I  saw  you  there  when  you  were  asleep;  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt 
told  me  who  you  were  and  where  you  lived ;  and  when  I  came  here 
a  little  while  ago  I  knew  you  again  very  soon.  And  I  knew  what 
the  matter  was  too,  pretty  well ;  but  nevertheless  tell  me  all  about 
it,  Ellen ;  perhaps  I  can  help  you." 

Ellen  shook  her  head  dejectedly.  "Nobody  in  this  world  can 
help  me,"  she  said. 

"Then  there's  one  in  heaven  that  can,"  said  the  lady  steadily. 
"  Nothing  is  too  bad  for  him  to  mend.  Have  you  asked  his  help, 
Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  began  to  weep  again.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  I  would  tell  you 
all  about  it,  ma'am,"  she  said;  "but  there  are  so  many  things,  I 
don't  know  where  to  begin,  I  don't  know  when  I  should  ever  get 
through." 

"  So  many  things  that  trouble  you,  Ellen  ?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that  indeed.  But  never  mind,  dear,  tell  me 
what  they  are.  Begin  with  the  worst,  and  if  I  haven't  time  to 
hear  them  all  now  I'll  find  time  another  day.  Begin  with  the 
worst." 

But  she  waited  in  vain  for  an  answer,  and  became  distressed 
herself  at  Ellen's  distress,  which  was  extreme. 

"Don't  cry  so,  my  child, — don't  cry  so,"  she  said,  pressing  her 
in  her  arms.  "  What  is  the  matter  ?  hardly  any  thing  in  this  world 
is  so  bad  it  can't  be  mended.  I  think  I  know  what  troubles  you  so 
—it  is  that  your  dear  mother  is  away  from  you,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am  !" — Ellen  could  scarcely  articulate.  But  strug 
gling  with  herself  for  a  minute  or  two,  she  then  spoke  again  and 
more  clearly. 

"  The  worst  is, — oh  the  worst  is — that  I  meant — I  meant — to  be 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  151 

a  good  child,  and  I  have  been  worse  than  ever  I  was  in  my  life 
before." 

Her  tears  gushed  forth. 

"  But  how,  Ellen  ?"  said  her  surprised  friend  after  a  pause.  "  I 
don't  quite  understand  you.  When  did  you  '  mean  to  be  a  good 
child?'  Didn't  you  always  mean  so?  and  what  have  you  been 
doing?" 

Ellen  made  a  great  effort  and  ceased  crying  ;  straightened  herself ; 
dashed  away  her  tears  as  if  determined  to  shed  no  more  ;  and 
presently  spoke  calmly,  though  a  choking  sob  every  now  and  then 
threatened  to  interrupt  her. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  ma'am.  That  first  day  I  left  mamma — when  I 
was  on  board  the  steamboat  and  feeling  as  badly  as  I  could  feel,  a 
kind,  kind  gentleman,  I  don't  know  who  he  was,  came  to  me  and  spoke 
to  me,  and  took  care  of  me  the  whole  day.  Oh,  if  I  could  see  him 
again !  He  talked  to  me  a  great  deal ;  he  wanted  me  to  be  a 
Christian  ;  he  wanted  me  to  make  up  my  mind  to  begin  that  day 
to  be  one  ;  and  ma'am,  I  did.  I  did  resolve  with  my  whole  heart, 
and  I  thought  I  should  be  different  from  that  time  from  what  I  had 
ever  been  before.  But  I  think  I  have  never  been  so  bad  in  my  life 
as  I  have  been  since  then.  Instead  of  feeling  right  I  have  felt 
wrong  all  the  time,  almost, — and  I  can't  help  it.  I  have  been  pas 
sionate  and  cross,  and  bad  feelings  keep  coming,  and  I  know  it's 
wrong,  and  it  makes  me  miserable.  And  yet,  oh  !  ma'am,  I  haven't 
changed  my  mind  a  bit, — I  think  just  the  same  as  I  did  that  day  ; 
I  want  to  be  a  Christian  more  than  any  thing  else  in  the  world,  but 
I  am  not, — and  what  shall  I  do  !" 

Her  face  sank  in  her  hands  again. 

"  And  this  is  your  great  trouble  ?"  said  her  friend. 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  remember  who  said,  {  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labour 
and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest'  ?" 

Ellen  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  You  are  grieved  to  find  yourself  so  unlike  what  you  would  be. 
You  wish  to  be  a  child  of  the  dear  Saviour  and  to  have  your  heart 
filled  with  his  love,  and  to  do  what  will  please  him.  Do  you  ? — 
Have  you  gone  to  him  day  by  day,  and  night  by  night,  and  told 
him  so  ? — have  you  begged  him  to  give  you  strength  to  get  the 
better  of  your  wrong  feelings,  and  asked  him  to  change  you  and 
make  you  his  child?" 

"  At  first  I  did,  ma'am," — said  Ellen  in  a  low  voice. 

"Not  lately?" 

11  No  ma'am  ;"  in  a  low  tone  still  and  looking  down. 

"  Then  you  have  neglected  your  Bible  and  prayer  for  some  time 
past?" 

Ellen  hardly  uttered,  "  Yes." 


152  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Why,  my  child  ?" 

"I don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  weeping, — "  that  is  one  of 
the  things  that  made  me  think  myself  so  very  wicked.  I  couldn't 
like  to  read  my  Bible  or  pray  either,  though  I  always  used  to  be 
fore.  My  Bible  lay  down  quite  at  the  bottom  of  my  trunk,  and 
I  even  didn't  like  to  raise  my  things  enough  to  see  the  cover  of 
it.  I  was  so  full  of  bad  feelings  I  didn't  feel  fit  to  pray  or  read 
either." 

"  Ah  !  that  is  the  way  with  the  wisest  of  us,"  said  her  compan 
ion  ;  "how  apt  we  are  to  shrink  most  from  our  Physician  just 
when  we  are  in  most  need  of  him.  But  Ellen,  dear,  that  isn't 
right.  No  hand  but  his  can  touch  that  sickness  you  are  com 
plaining  of.  Seek  it,  love,  seek  it.  He  will  hear  and  help  you, 
no  doubt  of  it,  in  every  trouble  you  carry  simply  and  humbly  to 
his  feet; — he  has  promised,  you  know." 

Ellen  was  weeping  very  much,  but  less  bitterly  than  before ;  the 
clouds  were  breaking  and  light  beginning  to  shine  through. 

"  Shall  we  pray  together  now?"  said  her  companion  after  a  few 
minutes'  pause. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  ma'am,  do !"  Ellen  answered  through  her 
tears. 

And  they  knelt  together  there  on  the  moss  beside  the  stone, 
where  Ellen's  head  rested  and  her  friend's  folded  hands  were  laid. 
It  might  have  been  two  children  speaking  to  their  father,  for  the 
simplicity  of  that  prayer ;  difference  of  age  seemed  to  be  forgot 
ten,  and  what  suited  one  suited  the  other.  It  was  not  without 
difficulty  that  the  speaker  carried  it  calmly  through,  for  Ellen's 
sobs  went  nigh  to  check  her  more  than  once.  When  they  rose 
Ellen  silently  sought  her  friend's  arms  again,  and  laying  her  face 
on  her  shoulder  and  putting  both  arms  round  her  neck,  she  wept 
still, — but  what  different  tears  !  It  was  like  the  gentle  rain  falling 
through  sunshine,  after  the  dark  cloud  and  the  thunder  and  the 
hurricane  have  passed  by.  And  they  kissed  each  other  before 
either  of  them  spoke. 

"  You  will  not  forget  your  Bible  and  prayer  again,  Ellen?" 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am.'' 

"  Then  I  am  sure  you  will  find  your  causes  of  trouble  grow 
less.  I  will  not  hear  the  rest  of  them  now.  In  a  day  or  two  I 
hope  you  will  be  able  to  give  me  a  very  different  account  from 
what  you  would  have  done  an  hour  ago ;  but  besides  that  it  is 
getting  late,  and  it  will  not  do  for  us  to  stay  too  long  up  here ; 
you  have  a  good  way  to  go  to  reach  home.  Will  you  come  and 
see  me  to-morrow  afternoon?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  indeed  I  will !— if  I  can  ;— and  if  you  will 
tell  me  where." 

"  Instead  of  turning  up   this  little  rocky  path  you  must  keep 


THE    WIDE.    WIDE    WORLD.  153 

straight  on  in  the  road, — that's  all;  and  it's  the  first  house  you 
come  to.  It  isn't  very  far  from  here.  Where  were  you  going  on 
the  mountain?" 

"Nowhere,  ma'am." 

"  Have  you  been  any  higher  up  than  this?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Then  before  we  go  away  I  want  to  show  you  something.  I'll 
take  you  over  the  Bridge  of  the  Nose  ;  it  isn't  but  a  step  or  two 
more  ;  a  little  rough  to  be  sure,  but  you  musn't  mind  that." 

"What  is  the  'Bridge  of  the  Nose,'  ma'am?''  said  Ellen,  as 
they  left  her  resting-place,  and  began  to  toil  up  the  path  which 
grew  more  steep  and  rocky  than  ever. 

"  You  know  this  mountain  is  called  the  Nose.  Just  here  it  runs 
out  to  a  very  thin  sharp  edge.  We  shall  come  to  a  place  presently 
where  you  turn  a  very  sharp  corner  to  get  from  one  side  of  the 
hill  to  the  other ;  and  my  brother  named  it  jokingly  the  Bridge 
of  the  Nose." 

"Why  do  they  give  the  mountain  such  a  queer  name?"  said 
Ellen. 

"I  don't  know  I'm  sure.  The  people  say  that  from  one  point 
of  view  this  side  of  it  looks  very  like  a  man's  nose ;  but  I  never 
could  find  it  out,  and  have  some  doubt  about  the  fact.  But  now 
here  we  are !  Just  come  round  this  great  rock, — mind  how  you 
step,  Ellen, — now  look  there  !" 

The  rock  they  had  just  turned  was  at  their  backs,  and  they 
looked  toward  the  west.  Both  exclaimed  at  the  beauty  before 
them.  The  view  was  not  so  extended  as  the  one  they  had  left. 
On  the  north  and  south  the  broken  wavy  outline  of  mountains 
closed  in  the  horizon ;  but  far  to  the  west  stretched  an  opening 
between  the  hills  through  which  the  setting  sun  sent  his  long 
beams,  even  to  their  feet.  In  the  distance  all  was  a  golden  haze ; 
nearer,  on  the  right  and  left  the  hills  were  lit  up  singularly,  and 
there  was  a  most  beautiful  mingling  of  deep  hazy  shadow  and 
bright  glowing  mountain  sides  and  ridges.  A  glory  was  upon  the 
valley.  Far  down  below  at  their  feet  lay  a  large  lake  gleaming  in 
the  sunlight ;  and  at  the  upper  end  of  it  a  village  of  some  size 
showed  like  a  cluster  of  white  dots. 

"How  beautiful!"  said  the  lady  again.  "Ellen,  dear,— he 
whose  hand  raised  up  those  mountains  and  has  painted  them  so 
gloriously  is  the  very  same  One  who  has  said,  to  you  and  to  me, 
'  Ask  and  it  shall  be  given  you.'  " 

Ellen  looked  up ;  their  eyes  met ;  her  answer  was  in  that  grate 
ful  glance. 

The  lady  sat  down  and  drew  Ellen  close  to  her.  "  Do  you  see 
that  little  white  village  yonder,  down  at  the  far  end  of  the  lake  ? 
that  is  the  village  of  Carra-carra ;  and  that  is  Carra-carra  lake ; 


154  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

that  is  where  I  go  to  church  ;  you  cannot  see  the  little  church  from 
here.     My  father  preaches  there  every  Sunday  morning. 
"  You  must  have  a  long  way  to  go,"  said  Ellen. 
"Yes — a   pretty  long  way,  but  it's  very  pleasant  though.     I 
mount  my  little  grey  pony,  and  he  carries  me  there  in  quick  time, 
when  I  will  let  him.     I  never  wish  the  way  shorter.     I  go  in  all 
sorts  of  weathers  too,  Ellen ;  Sharp  and  I  don't  mind  frost  and 
snow." 

"  Who  is  Sharp?"  said  Ellen. 

"  My  pony.     An  odd  name,  isn't  it.     It  wasn't  of  my  choosing, 
Ellen,  but  he  deserves  it  if  ever  pony  did.     He's  a  very  cunning 
little  fellow.     Where  do  you  go,  Ellen?  to  Thirlwall  ?" 
"  To  church,  ma'am  ? — I  don't  go  anywhere." 
"  Doesn't  your  aunt  go  to  church  ?" 
"  She  hasn't  since  I  have  been  here." 
"  What  do  you  do  with  yourself  on  Sunday?" 
"  Nothing,  ma'am  ;  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  myself  all  the 
day  long.    I  get  tired  of  being  in  the  house,  and  I  go  out  of  doors, 
and  then  I  get  tired  of  being  out  of  doors  and  come  in  again.     I 
wanted  a  kitten  dreadfully,  but  Mr.  Van  Brunt  said  aunt  Fortune 
would  not  let  me  keep  one." 

"  Did  you  want  a  kitten  to  help  you  keep  Sunday,  Ellen  ?"  said 
her  friend  smiling. 

"  Yes  I  did,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  again  ; — "  I  thought  it 
would  be  a  great  deal  of  company  for  me.  I  got  very  tired  of 
reading  all  day  long,  and  I  had  nothing  to  read  but  the  Bible ;  and 
you  know,  ma'am,  I  told  you  I  have  been  all  wrong  ever  since  I 
came,  here,  and  I  didn't  like  to  read  that  much." 

"  My  poor  child!"  said  the  lady, — "you  have  been  hardly 
bestead  I  think.  What  if  you  were  to  come  and  spend  next  Sun 
day  with  me  ?  Don't  you  think  I  should  do  instead  of  a  kitten  ?" 
"Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  Ellen  clinging  to  her. 
"  Oh,  I'll  come  gladly  if  you  will  let  me, — and  if  aunt  Fortune 
will  let  me ;  and  I  hope  she  will,  for  she  said  last  Sunday  I  was 
the  plague  of  her  life." 

"  What  did  you  do  to  make  her  say  so  ?"  said  her  friend  gravely. 
"  Only  asked  her  for  some  books,  ma'am." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  see  I  am  getting  upon  another  of  your 
troubles,  and  we  haven't  time  for  that  now.  By  your  own  account 
you  have  been  much  in  fault  yourself;  and  I  trust  you  will  find  all 
things  mend  with  your  own  mending.  But  now  there  goes  the  sun  ! 
— and  you  and  I  must  follow  his  example." 

The  lake  ceased  to  gleam,  and  the  houses  of  the  village  were 
less  plainly  to  be  seen ;  still  the  mountain  heads  were  as  bright  as 
ever.  Gradually  the  shadows  crept  up  their  sides  while  the  grey 
of  evening  settled  deeper  and  deeper  upon  the  vallev. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  155 

"  There/'  said  Ellen, — "  that's  just  what  I  was  wondering  at  the 
other  morning ;  only  then  the  light  shone  upon  the  top  of  the 
mountains  first  and  walked  down,  and  now  it  leaves  the  bottom  first 
and  walks  up.  I  asked  Mr.  Van  Brunt  about  it  and  he  could  not 
tell  me.  That's  another  of  my  troubles, — there's  nobody  that  can 
tell  me  any  thing." 

"  Put  me  in  mind  of  it  to-morrow,  and  I'll  try  to  make  you 
understand  it,"  said  the  lady,  "  but  we  must  not  tarry  now.  I  see 
you  are  likely  to  find  me  work  enough,  Ellen." 

"I'll  not  ask  you  a  question,  ma'am,  if  you  don't  like  it,"  said 
Ellen  earnestly. 

"  I  do  like,  I  do  like,"  said  the  other.  "  I  spoke  laughingly,  for 
I  see  you  will  be  apt  to  ask  me  a  good  many.  As  many  as  you 
please,  my  dear." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  as  they  ran  down  the  hill; 
"  they  keep  coming  into  my  head  all  the  while." 

It  was  easier  going  down  than  coming  up.  They  soon  arrived  at 
the  place  where  Ellen  had  left  the  road  to  take  the  wood-path. 

"  Here  we  part,"  said  the  lady.     "  Good-night !" 

"  Good-night,  ma'am." 

There  was  a  kiss  and  a  squeeze  of  the  hand,  but  when  Ellen 
would  have  turned  away  the  lady  still  held  her  fast. 

"  You  are  an  odd  little  girl,"  said  she.  "  I  gave  you  liberty  to 
ask  me  questions." 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  doubtfully. 

"There  is  a  question  you  have  not  asked  me  that  I  have  been 
expecting.  Do  you  know  who  I  am?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  know  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  very  much, "  said  Ellen,  laughing  at  her  friend's  look, 
"  but  mamma  told  me  never  to  try  to  find  out  any  thing  about  other 
people  that  they  didn't  wish  me  to  know,  or  that  wasn't  my  business." 

"  Well,  I  think  this  is  your  business  decidedly.  Who  are  you 
going  to  ask  for  when  you  come  to  see  me  to-morrow  ?  Will  you 
ask  for  '  the  young  lady  that  lives  in  this  house  ?'  or  will  you  give 
a  description  of  my  nose  and  eyes  and  inches?" 

Ellen  laughed. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  the  lady,  changing  her  tone,  "  do  you 
know  you  please  me  very  much  ?  For  one  person  that  shows  her 
self  well-bred  in  this  matter  there  are  a  thousand  I  think  that  ask 
impertinent  questions.  I  am  very  glad  you  are  an  exception  to  the 
common  rule.  But,  dear  Ellen,  I  am  quite  willing  you  should  know 
my  name — it  is  Alice  Humphreys.  Now  kiss  me  again  and  run 
home  ;  it  is  quite,  quite  time  ;  I  have  kept  you  too  late.  Good-night, 
my  dear!  Tell  your  aunt  I  beg  she  will  allow  you  to  take  tea  with 
me  to-morrow." 


156  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

They  parted ;  and  Ellen  hastened  homewards,  urged  by  the 
rapidly  growing  dusk  of  the  evening.  She  trod  the  green  turf 
with  a  step  lighter  and  quicker  than  it  had  been  a  few  hours  before, 
and  she  regained  her  home  in  much  less  time  than  it  had  taken 
her  to  come  from  thence  to  the  mountain.  Lights  were  in  the 
kitchen,  and  the  table  set;  but  though  weary  and  faint  she  was 
willing  to  forego  her  supper  rather  than  meet  her  aunt  just  then  ; 
so  she  stole  quietly  up  to  her  room.  She  did  not  forget  her  friend's 
advice.  She  had  no  light ;  she  could  not  read  ;  but  Ellen  did  pray. 
She  did  carry  all  her  heart-sickness,  her  wants,  and  her  woes,  to 
that  Friend  whose  ear  is  always  open  to  hear  the  cry  of  those  who 
call  upon  him  in  truth  ;  and  then,  relieved,  refreshed,  almost  healed, 
she  went  to  bed  and  slept  sweetly. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

After  long  storms  and  tempests  overblowne, 
The  sunne  at  length  his  joyous  face  doth  cleare; 
So  when  as  fortune  all  her  spight  hath  showne, 
Some  blissfuJl  houres  at  last  must  needs  appeare  ; 
Else  should  afflicted  wights  oft-times  despeire. 

FA.ERIE  QUEENE. 

EARLY  next  morning  Ellen  awoke  with  a  sense  that  something 
pleasant  had  happened.  Then  the  joyful  reality  darted  into  her 
mind,  and  jumping  out  of  bed  she  set  about  her  morning  work 
with  a  better  heart  than  she  had  been  able  to  bring  to  it  for  many 
a  long  day.  When  she  had  finished  she  went  to  the  window.  She 
had  found  out  how  to  keep  it  open  now,  by  means  of  a  big  nail 
stuck  in  a  hole  under  the  sash.  It  was  very  early,  and  in  the  per 
fect  stillness  the  soft  gurgle  of  the  little  brook  came  distinctly  to 
her  ear.  Ellen  leaned  her  arms  on  the  window-sill,  and  tasted  the 
morning  air;  almost  wondering  at  its  sweetness  and  at  the  loveliness 
of  field  and  sky  and  the  bright  eastern  horizon.  For  days  and  days 
all  had  looked  dark  and  sad. 

There  were  two  reasons  for  the  change.  In  the  first  place  Ellen 
had  made  up  her  mind  to  go  straight  on  in  the  path  of  duty ;  in 
the  second  place,  she  had  found  a  friend.  Her  little  heart 
bounded  with  delight  and  swelled  with  thankfulness  at  the 
thought  of  Alice  Humphreys.  She  was  once  more  at  peace  with 
herself,  and  had  even  some  notion  of  being  by  and  by  at  peace 
with  her  aunt ;  though  a  sad  twinge  came  over  her  whenever  she 
thought  of  her  mother's  letter. 

"But  there  is  only  one  way  for  me,"  she  thought;  "  I'll  do  as 
that  dear  Miss  Humphreys  told  me — it's  good  and  early,  and  I 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  157 

shall  have  a  fine  time  before  breakfast  yet  to  myself.  And  I'll 
get  up  so  every  morning  and  have  it ! — that'll  be  the  very  best 
plan  I  can  hit  upon." 

As  she  thought  this  she  drew  forth  her  Bible  from  its  place  at 
the  bottom  of  her  trunk  j  and  opening  it  at  hazard  she  began  to 
read  the  18th  chapter  of  Matthew.  Some  of  it  she  did  not  quite 
understand ;  but  she  paused  with  pleasure  at  the  14th  verse. 
"  That  means  me,"  she  thought.  The  21st  and  22d  verses  struck 
her  a  good  deal,  but  when  she  came  to  the  last  she  was  almost 
startled. 

"There  it  is  again!"  she  said.  "That  is  exactly  what  that 
gentleman  said  to  me.  I  thought  I  was  forgiven,  but  how  can  I 
be,  for  I  feel  I  have  not  forgiven  aunt  Fortune." 

Laying  aside  her  book,  Ellen  kneeled  down ;  but  this  one 
thought  so  pressed  upon  her  mind  that  she  could  think  of  scarce 
any  thing  else ;  and  her  prayer  this  morning  was  an  urgent  and 
repeated  petition  that  she  might  be  enabled  ;'  from  her  heart"  to  \/ 
forgive  her  aunt  Fortune  "  all  her  trespasses."  Poor  Ellen!  she 
felt  it  was  very  hard  work.  At  the  very  minute  she  was  striving 
to  feel  at  peace  with  her  aunt,  one  grievance  after  another  would 
start  up  to  remembrance,  and  she  knew  the  feelings  that  met  them 
were  far  enough  from  the  spirit  of  forgiveness.  In  the  midst  of 
this  she  was  called  down.  She  rose  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and 
"What  shall  I  do?"  in  her  heart.  Bowing  her  head  once  more 
she  earnestly  prayed  that  if  she  could  not  yet  feel  right  toward 
her  aunt,  she  might  be  kept  at  least  from  acting  or  speaking 
wrong.  Poor  Ellen  !  In  the  heart  is  the  spring  of  action  ;  and 
she  found  it  so  this  morning. 

Her  aunt  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  were  already  at  the  table.  Ellen 
took  her  place  in  silence,  for  one  look  at  her  aunt's  face  told  her 
that  no  "  good  -morning"  would  be  accepted.  Miss  Fortune  was  in 
a  particularly  bad  humour,  owing  among  other  things  to  Mr.  Van 
Brunt's  having  refused  to  eat  his  breakfast  unless  Ellen  were 
called.  An  unlucky  piece  of  kindness.  She  neither  spoke  to 
Ellen  nor  looked  at  her ;  Mr.  Van  Brunt  did  what  in  him  lay  to 
make  amends.  He  helped  her  very  carefully  to  the  cold  pork 
and  potatoes,  and  handed  her  the  well-piled  platter  of  griddle- 
cakes. 

"  Here's  the  first  buckwheats  of  the  season,"  said  he, — "  and  I 
told  Miss  Fortune  I  warn't  a  going  to  eat  one  on  'em  if  you  didn't 
come  down  to  enjoy  'em  along  with  us.  Take  two — take  two  ! — 
you  want  'em  to  keep  each  other  hot." 

Ellen's  look  and  smile  thanked  him,  as  following  his  advice  she 
covered  one  generous  "  buckwheat"  with  another  as  ample. 

"  That's  the  thing  !  Now  here's  some  prime  maple.  You  like 
'em,  I  guess,  don't  you  ?" 

14 


158  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  don't  know  yet — I  have  never  seen  any,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Never  seen  buckwheats !  why,  they're  most  as  good  as  my 
mother's  splitters.  Buckwheat  cakes  and  maple  molasses, — that's 
food  fit  for  a  king,  /  think — when  they're  good;  and  Miss  For 
tune's  are  always  first-rate." 

Miss  Fortune  did  not  relent  at  all  at  this  compliment. 

"  What  makes  you  so  white  this  morning  ?"  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
presently  went  on  ; — "  you  ain't  well,  be  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"— said  Ellen  doubtfully,—"  I'm  well " 

"  She's  as  well  as  I  am,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  if  you  don't  go  and  put 
her  up  to  any  notions !"  Miss  Fortune  said  in  a  kind  of  choked 
voice. 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  hemmed,  and  said  no  more  to  the  end  of  break 
fast-time. 

Ellen  rather  dreaded  what  was  to  come  next,  for  her  aunt's  look 
was  ominous.  In  dead  silence  the  things  were  put  away,  and  put 
up,  and  in  course  of  washing  and  drying,  when  Miss  Fortune  sud 
denly  broke  forth. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  yourself  yesterday  afternoon?" 

"  I  was  up  on  the  mountain,"  said  Ellen. 

"What  mountain?" 

"  I  believe  they  call  it  the  *  Nose.'  " 

"  What  business  had  you  up  there?" 

"  I  hadn't  any  business  there." 

11  What  did  you  go  there  for?" 

"Nothing." 

"Nothing  ! — you  expect  me  to  believe  that?  you  call  yourself 
a  truth-teller,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Mamma  used  to  say  I  was,"  said  poor  Ellen,  striving  to  swallow 
her  feelings. 

"  Your  mother  ! — I  dare  say — mothers  always  are  blind.  I  dare 
say  she  took  every  thing  you  said  for  gospel  !" 

Ellen  was  silent,  from  sheer  want  of  words  that  were  pointed 
enough  to  suit  her. 

"  I  wish  Morgan  could  have  had  the  gumption  to  marry  in  his 
own  country  ;  but  he  must  go  running  after  a  Scotch  woman  !  A 
Yankee  would  have  brought  up  his  child  to  be  worth  something. 
Give  me  Yankees !" 

Ellen  set  down  the  cup  she  was  wiping. 

"  You  don't  know  any  thing  about  my  mother,"  she  said.  "  You 
oughtn't  to  speak  so — it's  not  right." 

"  Why  ain't  it  right,  I  should  like  to  know  ?"  said  Miss  Fortune  ; 
— "  this  is  a  free  country,  I  guess.  Our  tongues  ain't  tied — we're 
all  free  here." 

"  I  wish  we  were,"  muttered  Ellen  ;— "  I  know  what  I'd  do." 

"  What  would  you  do  ?"  said  Miss  Fortune. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  159 

Ellen  was  silent.    Her  aunt  repeated  the  question  in  a  sharper  tone. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  say  what  I  was  going  to,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I'd  rather 
not." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "you  began,  and  you  shall 
finish  it.  I  will  hear  what  it  was." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  if  we  were  all  free  I  would  run  away." 

"  Well,  that  is  a  beautiful,  well-behaved  speech  !  I  am  glad  to 
have  heard  it.  I  admire  it  very  much.  Now  what  were  you  doing 
yesterday  up  on  the  Nose?  Please  to  go  on  wiping.  There's  a 
pile  ready  for  you.  What  were  you  doing  yesterday  afternoon  ?' ' 

Ellen  hesitated. 

"  Were  you  alone  or  with  somebody  ?" 

"  I  was  alone  part  of  the  time." 

"  And  who  were  you  with  the  rest  of  the  time?" 

"  Miss  Humphreys." 

"  Miss  Humphreys  ! — what  were  you  doing  with  her?" 

"Talking." 

11  Did  you  ever  see  her  before  ?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Where  did  you  find  her?" 

"  She  found  me,  up  on  the  hill." 

"  What  were  you  talking  about?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  What  were  you  talking  about?"  repeated  Miss  Fortune. 

"I  had  rather  not  tell." 

"  And  I  had  rather  you  should  tell — so  out  with  it." 

"  I  was  alone  with  Miss  Humphreys,"  said  Ellen ;  "  and  it  is  no 
matter  what  we  were  talking  about — it  doesn't  concern  any  body 
but  her  and  me." 

"  Yes  it  does,  it  concerns  me,"  said  her  aunt,  "and  I  choose  to 
know  ; — what  w,ere  you  talking  about  ?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"Will  you  tell  me?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  low  but  resolutely. 

"  I  vow  you're  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  Job  !  Look  here," 
said  Miss  Fortune,  setting  down  what  she  had  in  her  hands, — "  I 
will  know  !  I  don't  care  what  it  was,  but  you  shall  tell  me  or  I'll 
find  a  way  to  make  you.  I'll  give  you  such  a " 

"  Stop  !  stop  !"  said  Ellen  wildly, — "  you  must  not  speak  to  me 
so  !  Mamma  never  did,  and  you  have  no  right  to  !  If  mamma  or 
papa  were  here  you  would  not  dare  talk  to  me  so." 

The  answer  to  this  was  a  sharp  box  on  the  ear  from  Miss  For 
tune's  wet  hand.  Half  stunned,  less  by  the  blow  than  the  tumult 
of  feeling  it  roused,  Ellen  stood  a  moment,  and  then  throwing 
down  her  towel  she  ran  out  of  the  room,  shivering  with  passion,  and 
brushing  off"  the  soapy  water  left  on  her  face  as  if  it  had  been  her 


160  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

aunt's  very  hand.  Violent  tears  burst  forth  as  soon  as  she  reached 
her  own  room, — tears  at  first  of  anger  and  mortification  only  ;  but 
conscience  presently  began  to  whisper,  "You  are  wrong!  you  are 
wrong  !" — and  tears  of  sorrow  mingled  with  the  others. 

"Oh,"  said  Ellen,  "why  couldn't  I  keep  still !— when  I  had 
resolved  so  this  morning,  why  couldn't  I  be  quiet! — But  she 
ought  not  to  have  provoked  me  so  dreadfully, — I  couldn't  help  it." 
"  You  are  wrong,"  said  conscience  again,  and  her  tears  flowed 
faster.  And  then  came  back  her  morning  trouble — the  duty  and 
the  difficulty  of  forgiving.  Forgive  her  aunt  Fortune  ! — with  her 
whole  heart  in  a  passion  of  displeasure  against  her.  Alas  !  Ellen 
began  to  feel  and  acknowledge  that  indeed  all  was  wrong.  But 
what  to  do  ?  There  was  just  one  comfort,  the  visit  to  Miss  Hum 
phreys  in  the  afterno/m.  "She  will  tell  me,"  thought  Ellen; 
"  she  will  help  me.  But  in  the  mean  while?" 

Ellen  had  not  much  time  to  think ;  her  aunt  called  her  down 
and  set  her  to  work.  She  was  very  busy  till  dinner-time,  and  very 
unhappy  ;  but  twenty  times  in  the  course  of  the  morning  did  Ellen 
pause  for  a  moment,  and  covering  her  face  with  her  hands  pray 
that  a  heart  to  forgive  might  be  given  her. 

As  soon  as  possible  after  dinner  she  made  her  escape  to  her 
room  that  she  might  prepare  for  her  walk.  Conscience  was  not 
quite  easy  that  she  was  going  without  the  knowledge  of  her  aunt. 
She  had  debated  the  question  with  herself,  and  could  not  make  up 
her  mind  to  hazard  losing  her  visit. 

So  she  dressed  herself  very  carefully.  One  of  her  dark  merinos 
was  affectionately  put  on ;  her  single  pair  of  white  stockings ; 
shoes,  ruffle,  cape, — Ellen  saw  that  all  was  faultlessly  neat,  just  as 
her  mother  used  to  have  it ;  and  the  nice  blue  hood  lay  upon  the 
bed  ready  to  be  put  on  the  last  thing,  when  she  heard  her  aunt's 
voice  calling.  , 

"Ellen! — come  down  and  do  your  ironing — right  away,  now! 
the  irons  are  hot." 

For  one  moment  Ellen  stood  still  in  dismay ;  then  slowly  un 
dressed,  dressed  again,  and  went  down  stairs. 

"  Come  !  you've  been  an  age,"  said  Miss  Fortune  ;  "  now  make 
haste  ;  there  ain't  but  a  handful ;  and  I  want  to  mop  up." 

Ellen  took  courage  again  ;  ironed  away  with  right  good  will ; 
and  as  there  was  really  but  a  handful  of  things  she  had  soon  done, 
even  to  taking  off  the  ironing  blanket  and  putting  up  the  irons. 
In  the  mean  time  she  had  changed  her  mind  as  to  stealing  off 
without  leave ;  conscience  was  too  strong  for  her ;  and  though 
with  a  beating  heart,  she  told  of  Miss  Humphreys'  desire  and  her 
half  engagement. 

"You  may  go  where  you  like — I  am  sure  I  do  not  care  what 
you  do  with  yourself,"  was  Miss  Fortune's  reply. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  161 

Full  of  delight  at  this  ungracious  permission,  Ellen  fled  up 
stairs,  and  dressing  much  quicker  than  before,  was  soon  on  her 
way. 

But  at  first  she  went  rather  sadly.  In  spite  of  all  her  good 
resolves  and  wishes,  every  thing  that  day  had  gone  wrong ;  and 
Ellen  felt  that  the  root  of  the  evil  was  in  her  own  heart.  Some 
tears  fell  as  she  walked.  Further  from  her  aunt's  house,  however, 
her  spirits  began  to  rise ;  her  foot  fell  lighter  on  the  greensward. 
Hope  and  expectation  quickened  her  steps ;  and  when  at  length 
she  passed  the  little  wood-path  it  was  almost  on  a  run.  Not  very 
far  beyond  that  her  glad  eyes  saw  the  house  she  was  in  quest  of. 

It  was  a  large  white  house ;  not  very  white  either,  for  its  last 
dress  of  paint  had  grown  old  long  ago.  It  stood  close  by  the  road, 
and  the  trees  of  the  wood  seemed  to  throng  round  it  on  every  side. 
Ellen  mounted  the  few  steps  that  led  to  the  front  door,  and  knocked  ; 
but  as  she  could  only  just  reach  the  high  knocker,  she  was  not 
likely  to  alarm  any  body  with  the  noise  she  made.  After  a  great 
many  little  faint  raps,  which  if  any  body  heard  them  might  easily 
have  been  mistaken  for  the  attacks  of  some  rat's  teeth  upon  the 
wainscot,  Ellen  grew  weary  of  her  fruitless  toil  of  standing  on  tip 
toe,  and  resolved,  though  doubtfully,  to  go  round  the  house  and 
see  if  there  was  any  other  way  of  getting  in.  Turning  the  far 
corner,  she  saw  a  long,  low  out-building  or  shed  jutting  out  from 
the  side  of  the  house.  On  the  further  side  of  this  Ellen  found  an 
elderly  woman  standing  in  front  of  the  shed,  which  was  there  open 
and  paved,  and  wringing  some  clothes  out  of  a  tub  of  water.  She 
was  a  pleasant  woman  to  look  at,  very  trim  and  tidy,  and  a  good- 
humoured  eye  and  smile  when  she  saw  Ellen.  Ellen  made  up  to 
her  and  asked  for  Miss  Humphreys. 

"  Why,  where  in  the  world  did  you  come  from  ?"  said  the  woman. 
"  I  don't  receive  company  at  the  back  of  the  house." 

"  I  knocked  at  the  front  door  till  I  was  tired,"  said  Ellen,  smiling 
in  return. 

"  Miss  Alice  must  ha'  been  asleep.  Now,  honey,  you  have  come 
so  far  round  to  find  me,  will  you  go  a  little  further  and  find  Miss 
Alice  ?  Just  go  round  this  corner  and  keep  straight  along  till  you 
come  to  the  glass  door — there  you'll  find  her.  Stop  ! — maybe  she's 
asleep ;  I  may  as  well  go  along  with  you  myself." 

She  wrung  the  water  from  her  hands  and  led  the  way. 

A  little  space  of  green  grass  stretched  in  front  of  the  shed,  and 
Ellen  found  it  extended  all  along  that  side  of  the  house  like  a  very 
narrow  lawn  ;  at  the  edge  of  it  shot  up  the  high  forest  trees ; 
nothing  between  them  and  the  house  but  the  smooth  grass  and  a 
narrow  worn  foot-path.  The  woods  were  now  all  brown  stems, 
except  here  and  there  a  superb  hemlock  and  some  scattered  sil 
very  birches.  But  the  grass  was  still  green,  and  the  last  day  of 
I  14* 


162  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

the  Indian  summer  hung  its  soft  veil  over  all ;  the  foliage  of  the 
forest  was  hardly  missed.  They  passed  another  hall  door,  opposite 
the  one  where  Ellen  had  tried  her  strength  and  patience  upon  the 
knocker ;  a  little  further  on  they  paused  at  the  glass  door.  One 
step  led  to  it.  Ellen's  conductress  looked  in  first  through  one  of 
the  panes,  and  then  opening  the  door  motioned  her  to  enter. 

"  Here  you  are,  my  new  acquaintance,"  said  Alice,  smiling  and 
kissing  her.  "I  began  to  think  something  was  the  matter,  you 
tarried  so  late.  We  don't  keep  fashionable  hours  in  the  country, 
you  know.  But  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you.  Take  off  your  things 
and  lay  them  on  that  settee  by  the  door.  You  see  I've  a  settee  for 
summer  and  a  sofa  for  winter ;  for  here  I  am,  in  this  room,  at  all 
times  of  the  year;  and  a  very  pleasant  room  I  think  it,  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  pulling  off  her  last 
glove. 

"  Ah,  but  wait  till  you  have  taken  tea  with  me  half  a  dozen  times, 
and  then  see  if  you  don't  say  it  is  pleasant.  Nothing  can  be  so 
pleasant  that  is  quite  new.  But  now  come  here  and  look  out  of 
this  window,  or  door,  whichever  you  choose  to  call  it.  Do  you  see 
what  a  beautiful  view  I  have  here  ?  The  wood  was  just  as  thick 
all  along  as  it  is  on  the  right  and  left ;  I  felt  half  smothered  to  be 
so  shut  in,  so  I  got  my  brother  and  Thomas  to  take  axes  and  go  to 
work  there  ;  and  many  a  large  tree  they  cut  down  for  me,  till  you 
see  they  opened  a  way  through  the  woods  for  the  view  of  that 
beautiful  stretch  of  country.  I  should  grow  melancholy  if  I  had 
that  wall  of  trees  pressing  on  my  vision  all  the  time ;  it  always 
comforts  me  to  look  off,  far  away,  to  those  distant  blue  hills." 

"  Aren't  those  the  hills  I  was  looking  at  yesterday  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"From  up  on  the  mountain? — the  very  same;  this  is  part  of 
the  very  same  view,  and  a  noble  view  it  is.  Every  morning,  Ellen, 
the  sun  rising  behind  those  hills  shines  in  through  this  door  and 
lights  up  my  room  ;  and  in  winter  he  looks  in  at  that  south  window, 
so  I  have  him  all  the  time.  To  be  sure  if  I  want  to  see  him  set  I 
must  take  a  walk  for  it,  but  that  isn't  unpleasant;  and  you  know 
we  cannot  have  every  thing  at  once." 

It  was  a  very  beautiful  extent  of  woodland,  meadow,  and  hill, 
that  was  seen  picture-fashion  through  the  gap  cut  in  the  forest ; — 
the  wall  of  trees  on  each  side  serving  as  a  frame  to  shut  it  in,  and 
the  descent  of  the  mountain,  from  almost  the  edge  of  the  lawn, 
being  very  rapid.  The  opening  had  been  skilfully  cut ;  the  effect 
was  remarkable  and  very  fine ;  the  light  on  the  picture  being  often 
quite  different  from  that  on  the  frame  or  on  the  hither  side  of  the 
frame. 

"Now,  Ellen,"  said  Alice  turning  from  the  window,  "  take  a 
good  look  at  my  room.  I  want  you  to  know  it  and  feel  at  home  in 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  163 

it;  for  whenever  you  can  run  away  from  your  aunt's  this  is  your 
home, — do  you  understand?" 

A  smile  was  on  each  face.  Ellen  felt  that  she  wag  understand 
ing  it  very  fast. 

"  Here,  next  the  door,  you  see,  is  my  summer  settee ;  and  in 
summer  it  very  often  walks  out  of  doors  to  accommodate  people  on 
the  grass  plat.  I  have  a  great  fancy  for  taking  tea  out  of  doors, 
Ellen,  in  warm  weather ;  and  if  you  do  not  mind  a  mosquito  or 
two  I  shall  be  always  happy  to  have  your  company.  That  door 
opens  into  the  hall ;  look  out  and  see,  for  I  want  you  to  get  the 
geography  of  the  house. — That  odd-looking,  lumbering,  painted 
concern,  is  my  cabinet  of  curiosities.  I  tried  my  best  to  make  the 
carpenter  man  at  Thirlwall  understand  what  sort  of  a  thing  I 
wanted,  and  did  all  but  show  him  how  to  make  it ;  but  as  the 
southerners  say,  '  he  hasn't  made  it  right  no  how  !'  There  I  keep 
my  dried  flowers,  my  minerals,  and  a  very  odd  collection  of  curious 
things  of  all  sorts  that  I  am  constantly  picking  up.  I'll  show  you 
them  some  day,  Ellen.  Have  you  a  fancy  for  curiosities  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I  believe  so." 

"Believe  so! — not  more  sure  than  that?  Are  you  a  lover  of 
dead  moths,  and  empty  beetle-skins,  and  butterflies'  wings,  and  dry 
tufts  of  moss,  and  curious  stones,  and  pieces  of  ribbon-grass,  and 
strange  bird's  nests  ?  These  are  some  of  the  things  I  used  to  de 
light  in  when  I  was  about  as  old  as  you." 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen.  "I  never  was  where  I 
could  get  them." 

"  Weren't  you  !  Poor  child  !  Then  you  have  been  shut  up  to 
brick  walls  and  paving-stones  all  your  life?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,  all  my  life." 

"But  now  you  have  seen  a  little  of  the  country, — don't  you 
think  you  shall  like  it  better  ?' ' 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal  better !" 

"  Ah,  that's  right.  I  am  sure  you  will.  On  that  other  side,  you 
see,  is  my  winter  sofa.  It's  a  very  comfortable  resting-place  I  can 
tell  you,  Ellen,  as  I  have  proved  by  many  a  sweet  nap  ;  and  its  old 
chintz  covers  are  very  pleasant  to  me,  for  I  remember  them  as  far 
back  as  I  remember  any  thing." 

There  was  a  sigh  here ;  but  Alice  passed  on  and  opened  a  door 
near  the  end  of  the  sofa. 

"  Look  in  here,  Ellen  ;  this  is  my  bedroom." 

"  Oh,  how  lovely  !"   Ellen  exclai'med. 

The  carpet  covered  only  the  middle  of  the  floor ;  the  rest  was 
painted  white.  The  furniture  was  common  but  neat  as  wax. 
Ample  curtains  of  white  dimity  clothed  the  three  windows,  and 
lightly  draped  the  bed.  The  toilet-table  was  covered  with  snow- 
white  muslin,  and  by  the  toilet-cushion  stood,  late  as  it  was,  a 


164  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

glass  of  flowers.  Ellen  thought  it  must  be  a  pleasure  to  sleep 
there. 

"  This,*'  said  Alice  when  they  came  out, — "  between  my  door 
and  the  fireplace,  is  a  cupboard.  Here  be  cups  and  saucers,  and  so 
forth.  In  that  other  corner  beyond  the  fireplace  you  see  my  flower- 
stand.  Do  you  love  flowers,  Ellen?" 

"  I  love  them  dearly,  Miss  Alice." 

"I  have  some  pretty  ones  out  yet,  and  shall  have  one  or  two  in 
the  winter;  but  I  can't  keep  a  great  many  here;  I  haven't  room 
for  them.  I  have  hard  work  to  save  these  from  frost.  There's  a 
beautiful  daphne  that  will  be  out  by  and  by,  and  make  the  whole 
house  sweet.  But  here,  Ellen,  on  this  side  between  the  windows, 
is  my  greatest  treasure — my  precious  books.  All  these  are  mine. 
— Now,  my  dear,  it  is  time  to  introduce  you  to  my  most  excellent 
of  easy  chairs — the  best  things  in  the  room,  aren't  they?  Put 
yourself  in  that — now  do  you  feel  at  home  ?" 

"  Very  much  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  as  Alice 
placed  her  in  the  deep  easy  chair. 

There  were  two  things  in  the  room  that  Alice  had  not  mentioned, 
and  while  she  mended  the  fire  Ellen  looked  at  them.  One  was  the 
portrait  of  a  gentleman,  grave  and  good-looking ;  this  had  very 
little  of  her  attention.  The  other  was  the  counter-portrait  of  a 
lady  ;  a  fine  dignified  countenance  that  had  a  charm  for  Ellen.  It 
hung  over  the  fireplace  in  an  excellent  light ;  and  the  mild  eye  and 
somewhat  of  a  peculiar  expression  about  the  mouth  bore  such  like 
ness  to  Alice,  though  older,  that  Ellen  had  no  doubt  whose  it  was. 

Alice  presently  drew  a  chair  close  to  Ellen's  side,  and  kissed  her. 

"  1  trust,  my  child,"  she  said,  "  that  you  feel  better  to-day  than 
you  did  yesterday?" 

"  Oh,  I  do,  ma'am, — a  great  deal  better,"  Ellen  answered. 

"  Then  I  hope  the  reason  is  that  you  have  returned  to  your  duty, 
and  are  resolved,  not  to  be  a  Christian  by  and  by,  but  to  lead  a 
Christian's  life  now?" 

"  I  have  resolved  so,  ma'am, — I  did  resolve  so  last  night  and 
this  morning, — but  yet  I  have  been  doing  nothing  but  wrong  all 
to-day." 

Alice  was  silent.  Ellen's  lips  quivered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
she  went  on, 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  how  I  have  wanted  to  see  you  to-day  to  tell  me 
what  I  should  do !  I  resolved  and  resolved  this  morning,  and  then 
as  soon  as  I  got  down  stairs  I  began  to  have  bad  feelings  toward 
aunt  Fortune,  and  I  have  been  full  of  bad  feelings  all  day ;  and  I 
couldn't  help  it." 

"  It  will  not  do  to  say  that  we  cannot  help  what  is  wrong,  Ellen. 
— What  is  the  reason  that  you  have  bad  feelings  toward  your 
aunt?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  165 

"  She  don't  like  me,  ma'am." 

"  But  how  happens  that,  Ellen  ?  I  am  afraid  you  don't  like 
her." 

"No,  ma'am,  I  don't  to  be  sure ;  how  can  I?" 

"  Why  cannot  you,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't,  ma'am  !  I  wish  I  could.  But  oh,  ma' am,  I  should 
have  liked  her — I  might  have  liked  her,  if  she  had  been  kind,  but 
she  never  has.  Even  that  first  night  I  came  she  never  kissed  me, 
nor  said  she  was  glad  to  see  me." 

"  That  was  failing  in  kindness  certainly,  but  is  she  unkind  to 
you,  Ellen?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  indeed  she  is.  She  talks  to  me,  and  talks  to 
me,  in  a  way  that  almost  drives  me  out  of  my  wits ;  and  to-day 
she  even  struck  me  !  She  has  no  right  to  do  it,"  said  Ellen,  firing 
with  passion, — "she  has  no  right  to! — and  she  has  no  right  to 
talk  as  she  does  about  mamma.  She  did  it  to-day,  and  she  has  done  it 
before  ; — I  can't  bear  it ! — and  I  can't  bear  her  !  I' can't  bear  her  !" 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Alice,  drawing  the  excited  child  to  her 
arms,  for  Ellen  had  risen  from  her  seat ; — "  you  must  not  talk 
so,  Ellen ; — you  are  not  feeling  right  now." 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  am  not,"  said  Ellen  coldly  and  sadly.  She  sat 
a  moment,  and  then  turning  to  her  companion  put  both  arms  round 
her  neck,  and  hid  her  face  on  her  shoulder  again ;  and  without 
raising  it  she  gave  her  the  history  of  the  morning. 

"What  has  brought  about  this  dreadful  state  of  things?"  said 
Alice  after  a  few  minutes.  "  Whose  fault  is  it,  Ellen  ?" 

"I  think  it  is  aunt  Fortune's  fault,"  said  Ellen  raising  her 
head;  "  I  don't  think  it  is  mine.  If  she  had  behaved  well  to  me 
I  should  have  behaved  well  to  her.  I  meant  to,  I  am  sure." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  do  not  think  you  have  been  in  fault 
at  all  in  the  matter?" 

"No,  ma'am — I  do  not  mean  to  say  that.  I  have  been  very 
much  in  fault — very  often — I  know  that.  I  get  very  angry  and 
vexed,  and  sometimes  I  say  nothing,  but  sometimes  I  get  out  of  all 
patience  and  say  things  I  ought  not.  I  did  so  to-day  ;  but  it  is  so 
very  hard  to  keep  still  when  I  am  in  such  a  passion  ; — and  now  I 
have  got  to  feel  so  toward  aunt  Fortune  that  I  don't  like  the  sight 
of  her ;  I  hate  the  very  look  of  her  bonnet  hanging  up  on  the 
wall.  I  know  it  isn't  right;  and  it  makes  me  miserable;  and  I 
can't  help  it,  for  I  grow  worse  and  worse  every  day; — and  what 
shall  I  do?" 

Ellen's  tears  came  faster  than  her  words. 

"  Ellen,  my  child,"  said  Alice  after  a  while, — "  There  is  but  one 
way.  You  know  what  I  said  to  you  yesterday  ?" 

"  I  know  it,  but  dear  Miss  Alice,  in  my  reading  this  morning  I 
came  to  that  verse  that  speaks  about  not  being  forgiven  if  we  do 


166  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

not  forgive  others ;  and  oh !  how  it  troubles  me ;  for  I  can't  feel 
that  I  forgive  aunt  Fortune ;  I  feel  vexed  whenever  the  thought 
of  her  comes  into  my  head ;  and  how  can  I  behave  right  to  her 
while  I  feel  so  ?" 

"  You  are  right  there,  my  dear ;  you  cannot  indeed ;  the  heart 
must  be  set  right  before  the  life  can  be." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  to  set  it  right  ?" 

"Pray." 

"  Dear  Miss  Alice,  I  have  been  praying  all  this  morning  that  I 
might  forgive  aunt  Fortune,  and  yet  I  cannot  do  it." 

"  Pray,  still,  my  dear,"  said  Alice,  pressing  her  closer  in  her 
arms, — "pray  still;  if  you  are  in  earnest  the  answer  will  come. 
But  there  is  something  else  you  can  do,  and  must  do,  Ellen,  besides 
praying,  or  praying  may  be  in  vain." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Alice  ?" 

11  You  acknowledge  yourself  in  fault — have  you  made  all  the 
amends  you  can  ?  Have  you,  as  soon  as  you  have  seen  yourself  in 
the  wrong,  gone  to  your  aunt  Fortune  and  acknowledged  it,  and 
humbly  asked  her  pardon?" 

Ellen  answered  "  no"  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Then,  my  child,  your  duty  is  plain  before  you.  The  next  thing 
after  doing  wrong  is  to  make  all  the  amends  in  your  power ;  confess 
your  fault,  and  ask  forgiveness,  both  of  God  and  man.  Pride 
struggles  against  it, — I  see  yours  does, — but  my  child,  '  God  re- 
sisteth  the  proud,  but  giveth  grace  unto  the  humble.'  " 

Ellen  burst  into  tears  and  cried  heartily. 

"  Mind  your  own  wrong  doings,  my  child,  and  you  will  not  be 
half  so  disposed  to  quarrel  with  those  of  other  people.  But,  Ellen 
dear,  if  you  will  not  humble  yourself  to  this  you  must  not  count 
upon  an  answer  to  your  prayer.  '  If  thou  bring  thy  gift  to  the 
altar,  and  there  rememberest  that  thy  brother  hath  aught  against 
thee,' — what  then  ? — '  Leave  there  thy  gift  before  the  altar ;'  go 
first  and  be  reconciled  to  thy  brother,  and  then  come." 

"  But  it  is  so  hard  to  forgive  ?"   sobbed  Ellen. 

"  Hard  ?  yes  it  is  hard  when  our  hearts  are  so.  But  there  is 
little  love  to  Christ  and  no  just  sense  of  his  love  to  us  in  the  heart 
that  finds  it  hard.  Pride  and  selfishness  make  it  hard  ;  the  heart 
full  of  love  to  the  dear  Saviour  cannot  lay  up  offences  against  itself." 

"  I  have  said  quite  enough,"  said  Alice  after  a  pause ;  "  you 
know  what  you  want,  my  dear  Ellen,  and  what  you  ought  to  do. 
I  shall  leave  you  for  a  little  while  to  change  my  dress,  for  I  have 
been  walking  and  riding  all  the  morning.  Make  a  good  use  of  the 
time  while  I  am  gone." 

Ellen  did  make  good  use  of  the  time.  When  Alice  returned  she 
met  her  with  another  face  than  she  had  worn  all  that  day,  humbler 
and  quieter  ;  and  flinging  her  arms  around  her,  she  said, 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  167 

"I  will  ask  aunt  Fortune's  forgiveness; — I  feel  I  can  do  it 
now." 

"And  how  about  forgiving,  Ellen?" 

"  I  think  God  will  help  me  to  forgive  her,"  said  Ellen ;  "  I  have 
asked  him.  At  any  rate  I  will  ask  her  to  forgive  me.  But  oh, 
Miss  Alice !  what  would  have  become  of  me  without  you.  " 

"Don't  lean  upon  me,  dear  Ellen;  remember  you  have  a  better 
friend  than  I  always  near  you ;  trust  in  him ;  if  I  have  done  you 
any  good,  don't  forget  it  was  he  brought  me  to  you  yesterday 
afternoon." 

"  There's  just  one  thing  that  troubles  me  now,"  said  Ellen, — 
"  mamma's  letter.  I  am  thinking  of  it  all  the  time ;  I  feel  as  if  I 
should  fly  to  get  it  I" 

"  We'll  see  about  that.     Cannot  you  ask  your  aunt  for  it?" 

"I  don't  like  to." 

"Take  care,  Ellen;  there  is  some  pride  there  yet." 

"  Well,  I  will  try,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  sometimes,  I  know,  she 
would  not  give  it  to  me  if  I  were  to  ask  her.  But  I'll  try,  if  I 
can." 

"  Well,  now  to  change  the  subject — at  what  o'clock  did  you  dine 
to-day?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am, — at  the  same  time  we  always  do,  I 
believe." 

"And  that  is  twelve  o'clock,  isn't  it?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  but  I  was  so  full  of  coming  here  and  other  things 
that  I  couldn't  eat." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  would  have  no  objection  to  an  early  tea?" 

"  No,  ma'am, — whenever  you  please,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  I  shall  please  it  pretty  soon.  I  have  had  no  dinner  at  all  to 
day,  Ellen  ;  I  have  been  out  and  about  all  the  morning,  and  had 
just  taken  a  little  nap  when  you  came  in.  Come  this  way  and  let 
me  show  you  some  of  my  housekeeping." 

She  led  the  way  across  the  hall  to  the  room  on  the  opposite  side ; 
a  large,  well-appointed,  and  spotlessly  neat  kitchen.  Ellen  could  not 
help  exclaiming  at  its  pleasantness. 

"  Why,  yes — I  think  it  is.  I  have  been  in  many  a  parlour  that 
I  do  not  like  as  well.  Beyond  this  is  a  lower  kitchen  where  Mar 
gery  does  all  her  rough  work ;  nothing  comes  up  the  steps  that 
lead  from  that  to  this  but  the  very  nicest  and  daintiest  of  kitchen 
matters.  Margery,  is  my  father  gone  to  Thirlwall  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  Alice — he's  at  Carra-carra — Thomas  heard  him  say 
he  wouldn't  be  back  early." 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  wait  for  him.  Margery,  if  you  will  put  the 
kettle  on  and  see  to  the  fire,  I'll  make  some  of  my  cakes  for  tea." 

"  I'll  do  it,  Miss  Alice ;  it's  not  good  for  you  to  go  so  long 
without  eating." 


168  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Alice  now  rolled  up  her  sleeves  above  the  elbows,  and  tying  a 
large  white  apron  before  her,  set  about  gathering  the  different 
things  she  wanted  for  her  work, — to  Ellen's  great  amusement.  A 
white  moulding-board  was  placed  upon  a  table  as  white ;  and  round 
it  soon  grouped  the  pail  of  flour,  the  plate  of  nice  yellow  butter, 
the  bowl  of  cream,  the  sieve,  tray,  and  sundry  etceteras.  And 
then,  first  sifting  some  flour  into  the  tray,  Alice  began  to  throw  in 
the  other  things  one  after  another  and  toss  the  whole  about  with  a 
carelessness  that  looked  as  if  all  would  go  wrong,  but  with  a  con 
fidence  that  seemed  to  say  all  was  going  right.  Ellen  gazed  in 
comical  wonderment. 

"Did  you  think  cakes  were  made  without  hands?"  said  Alice, 
laughing  at  her  look.  "  You  saw  me  wash  mine  before  I 
began." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  thinking  of  that,"  said  Ellen;  "I  am  not  afraid 
of  your  hands." 

"  Did  you  never  see  your  mother  do  this  ?"  said  Alice,  who  was 
now  turning  and  rolling  about  the  dough  upon  the  board  in  a  way 
that  seemed  to  Ellen  curious  beyond  expression. 

"No,  never,"  she  said.  "Mamma  never  kept  house,  and  I 
never  saw  any  body  do  it." 

"  Then  your  aunt  does  not  let  you  into  the  mysteries  of  bread- 
and  butter-making !" 

"  Butter-making!  Oh,"  said  Ellen  with  a  sigh,  "  I  have  enough 
of  that !" 

Alice  now  applied  a  smooth  wooden  roller  to  the  cake,  with 
such  quickness  and  skill  that  the  lump  forthwith  lay  spread  upon 
the  board  in  a  thin  even  layer,  and  she  next  cut  it  into  little 
round  cakes  with  the  edge  of  a  tumbler.  Half  the  board  was 
covered  with  the  nice  little  white  things,  which  Ellen  declared 
looked  good  enough  to  eat  already,  and  she  had  quite  forgotten  all 
possible  causes  of  vexation,  past,  present,  or  future, — when  sud 
denly  a  large  grey  cat  jumped  upon  the  table,  and  coolly  walking 
upon  the  moulding-board  planted  his  paw  directly  in  the  middle  of 
one  of  his  mistress's  cakes. 

"Take  him  off— Oh,  Ellen  1"  cried  Alice,— "  take  him  offl  1 
can't  touch  him." 

But  Ellen  was  a  little  afraid. 

Alice  then  tried  gently  to  shove  puss  off  with  her  elbow ;  but 
he  seemed  to  think  that  was  very  good  fun, — purred,  whisked 
his  great  tail  over  Alice's  bare  arm,  and  rubbed  his  head  against 
it,  having  evidently  no  notion  that  he  was  not  just  where  he 
ought  to  be.  Alice  and  Ellen  were  too  much  amused  to  try 
any  violent  method  of  relief,  but  Margery  happily  coming  in 
seized  puss  in  both  hands  and  set  him  on  the  floor. 

"  Just  look  at  the  print  of  his  paw  in  that  cake,"  said  Ellen. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


169 


"  He  has  set  his  mark  on  it  certainly.  I  think  it  is  his  now,  by 
the  right  of  possession  if  not  the  right  of  discovery." 

"  I  think  he  discovered  the  cakes  too,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  Why,  yes.     He  shall  have  that  one  baked  for  his  supper." 

''Does  he  like  cakes?" 

"  Indeed  he  does.  He  is  very  particular  and  delicate  about  his 
eating,  is  Captain  Parry." 

"  Captain  Parry  !"  said  Ellen, — "  is  that  his  name  ?" 


"Yes,"  said  Alice  laughing;  "I  don't  wonder  you  look  aston 
ished,  Ellen.  I  have  had  that  cat  five  years,  and  when  he  was 
first  given  me  by  my  brother  Jack,  who  was  younger  then  than  he 
is  now,  and  had  been  reading  Captain  Parry's  Voyages,  he  gave  him 
that  name  and  would  have  him  called  so.  Oh,  Jack  !" — said  Alice, 
half  laughing  and  half  crying. 

Ellen  wondered  why.  But  she  went  to  wash  her  hands,  and 
when  her  face  was  again  turned  to  Ellen  it  was  unruffled  as 
ever. 

"  Margery,  my  cakes  are  ready,"  said  she,  "  and  Ellen  and  I  are 
ready  too." 

H  15 


170  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"Very  well,  Miss  Alice — the  kettle  is  just  going  to  boil;  you 
shall  have  tea  in  a  trice.  I'll  do  some  eggs  for  you." 

"Something — any  thing,"  said  Alice;  "I  feel  one  cannot  live 
without  eating.  Come,  Ellen,  you  and  I  will  go  and  set  the  tea- 
table." 

Ellen  was  very  happy  arranging  the  cups  and  saucers  and  other 
things  that  Alice  handed  her  from  the  cupboard  ;  and  when  a  few 
minutes  after  the  tea  and  the  cakes  came  in,  and  she  and  Alice  were 
cosily  seated  at  supper,  poor  Ellen  hardly  knew  herself  in  such  a 
pleasant  state  of  things. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

The  very  sooth  of  it  is,  that  an  ill-habit  has  the  force  of  an  ill-fate. 

L'ESTRANGE. 

"  ELLEN  dear,"  said  Alice  as  she  poured  out  Ellen's  second  cup 
of  tea,  "  have  we  run  through  the  list  of  your  troubles  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss  Alice,  indeed  we  haven't ;  but  we  have  got 
through  the  worst." 

"  Is  the  next  one  so  bad  it  would  spoil  our  supper?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "it  couldn't  do  that,  but  it's  bad  enough 
though;  it's  about  my  not  going  to  school.  Miss  Alice,  I  prom 
ised  myself  I  would  learn  so  much  while  mamma  was  away,  and 
surprise  her  when  she  came  back,  and  instead  of  that  I  am  not 
learning  any  thing.  I  don't  mean  not  learning  any  thing"  said 
Ellen  correcting  herself; — "  but  I  can't  do  much.  When  I  found 
aunt  Fortune  wasn't  going  to  send  me  to  school  I  determined  I 
would  try  to  study  by  myself;  and  I  have  tried ;  but  I  can't  get 
along." 

"  Well  now  don't  lay  down  your  knife  and  fork  and  look  so  dole 
ful,"  said  Alice  smiling;  "this  is  a  matter  I  can  help  you  in. 
What  are  you  studying  ?' ' 

"  Some  things  I  can  manage  well  enough,"  said  Ellen,  "  the  easy 
things  ;  but  I  cannot  understand  my  arithmetic  without  some  one 
to  explain  it  to  me,  and  French  I  can  do  nothing  at  all  with,  and 
that  is  what  I  wanted  to  learn  most  of  all ;  and  often  I  want  to  ask 
questions  about  my  history." 

"Suppose,"  said  Alice,  "you  go  on  studying  by  yourself  as 
much  and  as  well  as  you  can,  and  bring  your  books  up  to  me  two 
or  three  times  a  week ;  I  will  hear  and  explain  and  answer  ques 
tions  to  your  heart's  content,  unless  you  should  be  too  hard  for 
me.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  171 

Ellen  said  nothing  to  it,  but  the  colour  that  rushed  to  her  cheeks, 
— the  surprised  look  of  delight, — were  answer  enough. 

"It  will  do  then,"  said  Alice,  "and  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall 
untie  the  knot  of  those  arithmetical  problems  very  soon.  But, 
Ellen,  my  dear,  I  cannot  help  you  in  French,  for  I  do  not  know  it 
myself?  What'  will  you  do  about  that  ?" 

11 1  don't  know,  ma'am  ;  I  am  sorry." 

"  So  am  I,  for  your  sake.  I  can  help  you  in  Latin,  if  that  would 
be  any  comfort  to  you." 

"  It  wouldn't  be  much  comfort  to  me,"  said  Ellen,  laughing ; 
"  mamma  wanted  me  to  learn  Latin,  but  I  wanted  to  learn  French 
a  great  deal  more  ;  I  don't  care  about  Latin,  except  to  please 
her." 

"  Permit  me  to  ask  if  you  know  English?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,  I  hope  so  ;  I  knew  that  a  great  while  ago." 

"  Did  you?  I  am  very  happy  to  make  your  acquaintance  then, 
for  the  number  of  young  ladies  who  do  know  English  is  in  my 
opinion  remarkably  small.  Are  you  sure  of  the  fact,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Why  yes,  Miss  Alice." 

"  Will  you  undertake  to  write  me  a  note  of  two  pages  that  shall 
not  have  one  fault  of  grammar,  nor  one  word  spelt  wrong,  nor  any 
thing  in  it  that  is  not  good  English  ?  You  may  take  for  a  subject 
the  history  of  this  afternoon." 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  if  you  wish  it.  I  hope  I  can  write  a  note  that 
long  without  making  mistakes." 

Alice  smiled. 

"  I  will  not  stop  to  inquire,"  she  said.  "  whether  that  long  is 
Latin  or  French ;  but  Ellen,  my  dear,  it  is  not  English." 

Ellen  blushed  a  little,  though  she  laughed  too. 

"  I  believe  I  have  got  into  the  way  of  saying  that  by  hearing 
aunt  Fortune  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  say  it;  I  don't  think  I  ever  did 
before  I  came  here." 

"  What  are  you  so  anxious  to  learn  French  for  ?" 

"  Mamma  knows  it,  and  I  have  often  heard  her  talk  French  with 
a  great  many  people ;  and  papa  and  I  always  wanted  to  be  able  to 
talk  it  too ;  and  mamma  wanted  me  to  learn  it ;  she  said  there  were 
a  great  many  French  books  I  ought  to  read." 

"  That  last  is  true,  no  doubt.  Ellen,  I  will  make  a  bargain  with 
you, — if  you  will  study  English  with  me,  I  will  study  French  with 
you." 

"  Dear  Miss  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  caressing  her,  "  I'll  do  it  with 
out  that;  I'll  study  any  thing  you  please." 

"  Dear  Ellen,  I  believe  you  would.  But  I  should  like  to  know 
it  for  my  own  sake ;  we'll  study  it  together ;  we  shall  get  along 
nicely,  I  have  no  doubt ;  we  can  learn  to  read  it,  at  least,  and  that 
is  the  main  point." 


172  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"But  how  shall  we  know  what  to  call  the  words?"  said  Ellen, 
doubtfully. 

u  That  is  a  grave  question,"  said  Alice,  smiling.  "  I  am  afraid 
we  should  hit  upon  a  style  of  pronunciation  that  a  Frenchman 
would  make  nothing  of.  I  have  it !"  she  exclaimed,  clapping  her 
hands, — "  where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way, — it  always  happens 
so.  Ellen,  I  have  an  old  friend  upon  the  mountain  who  will  give 
us  exactly  what  we  want,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken.  We'll  go 
and  see  her;  that  is  the  very  thing ! — my  old  friend  Mrs.  Vawse." 

"  Mrs.  Vawse  !"  repeated  Ellen  ; — "  not  the  grandmother  of  that 
Nancy  Vawse?" 

"  The  very  same.  Her  name  is  not  Vawse  ;  the  country  people 
call  it  so,  and  I  being  one  of  the  country  people  have  fallen  into 
the  way  of  it ;  but  her  real  name  is  Vosier.  She  was  born  a  Swiss, 
and  brought  up  in  a  wealthy  French  family,  as  the  personal  at 
tendant  of  a  young  lady  to  whom  she  became  exceedingly  attached. 
This  lady  finally  married  an  American  gentleman ;  and  so  great 
was  Mrs.  Vawse' s  love  to  her,  that  she  left  country  and  family  to 
follow  her  here.  In  a  few  years  her  mistress  died  ;  she  married ; 
and  since  that  time  she  has  been  tossed  from  trouble  to  trouble ; — 
a  perfect  sea  of  troubles  ; — till  now  she  is  left  like  a  wreck  upon 
this  mountain  top.  A  fine  wreck  she  is !  I  go  to  see  her  very 
often,  and  next  time  I  will  call  for  you,  and  we  will  propose  our 
French  plan  ;  nothing  will  please  her  better,  I  know.  By  the  way, 
Ellen,  are  you  as  well  versed  in  the  other  common  branches  of 
education  as  you  are  in  your  mother  tongue  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Alice?" 

"  Geography,  for  instance  ;  do  you  know  it  well  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am ;  I  believe  so;  I  am  sure  I  have  studied  it  till  I 
am  sick  of  it." 

"  Can  you  give  me  the  boundaries  of  Great  Thibet  or  Peru  ?" 

Ellen  hesitated. 

"I  had  rather  not  try,"  she  said, — "I  am  not  sure.  I  can't 
remember  those  queer  countries  in  Asia  and  South  America  half 
so  well  as  Europe  and  North  America." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  the  surface  of  the  country  in 
Italy  or  France  ;  the  character  and  condition  of  the  people ;  what 
kind  of  climate  they  have,  and  what  grows  there  most  freely?" 

"  Why  no,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  nobody  ever  taught  me  that." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  over  the  Atlas  again,  talking  about  all 
these  matters,  as  well  as  the  mere  outlines  of  the  countries  you 
have  studied  before  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dearly  !"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

"  Well,  I  think  we  may  let  Margery  have  the  tea-things.  But 
here  is  Captain's  cake." 

"  Oh,  may  I  give  him  his  supper?"  said  Ellen. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  173 

"  Certainly.  You  must  carve  it  for  him  ;  you  know  I  told  you 
he  is  very  particular.  Give  him  some  of  the  egg,  too — he  likes 
that.  Now  where  is  the  Captain?" 

Not  far  off ;  for  scarcely  had  Alice  opened  the  door  and  called 
him  once  or  twice,  when  with  a  queer  little  note  of  answer,  he 
came  hurriedly  trotting  in. 

"  He  generally  has  his  supper  in  the  outer  kitchen,"  said  Alice, 
— "  but  I  grant  him  leave  to  have  it  here  to-night  as  a  particular 
honour  to  him  and  you." 

"  How  handsome  he  is  !  and  how  large  !"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes,  he  is  very  handsome,  and  more  than  that  he  is  very 
sensible,  for  a  cat.  Do  you  see  how  prettily  his  paws  are  marked  ? 
Jack  used  to  say  he  had  white  gloves  on." 

"And  white  boots  too,"  said  Ellen.  "No,  only  one  leg  is 
white;  pussy's  boots  aren't  mates.  Is  he  good-natured ?" 

"  Very — if  you  don't  meddle  with  him." 

"  I  don't  call  that  being  good-natured,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"Nor  I;  but  truth  obliges  me  to  say  the  Captain  does  not  per 
mit  any  body  to  take  liberties  with  him.  He  is  a  character, 
Captain  Parry.  Come  out  on  the  lawn,  Ellen,  and  we  will  let 
Margery  clear  away." 

"What  a  pleasant  face  Margery  has,"  said  Ellen,  as  the  door 
closed  behind  them  ;  "  and  what  a  pleasant  way  she  has  of  speaking. 
I  like  to  hear  her, — the  words  come  out  so  clear,  and  I  don't 
know  how,  but  not  like  other  people." 

"  You  have  a  quick  ear,  Ellen ;  you  are  very  right.  Margery 
had  lived  too  long  in  England  before  she  came  here  to  lose  her 
trick  of  speech  afterwards.  But  Thomas  speaks  as  thick  as  a 
Yankee,  and  always  did." 

"  Then  Margery  is  English?"  said  Ellen. 

"  To  be  sure.  She  came  over  with  us  twelve  years  ago  for  the 
pure  love  of  my  father  and  mother ;  and  I  believe  now  she  looks 
upon  John  and  me  as  her  own  children.  I  think  she  could 
scarcely  love  us  more  if  we  were  so  in  truth.  Thomas — you 
haven't  seen  Thomas  yet,  have  you  ?" 

"No." 

"  He  is  an  excellent  good  man  in  his  way,  and  as  faithful  as  the 
day  is  long  ;  but  he  isn't  equal  to  his  wife.  Perhaps  I  am  partial ; 
Margery  came  to  America  for  the  love  of  us,  and  Thomas  came 
for  the  love  of  Margery ;  there's  a  difference." 

"  But,  Miss  Alice  !— " 

"What,  Miss  Ellen?" 

"  You  said  Margery  came  over  with  you  f 

"  Yes  ;  is  that  what  makes  you  look  so  astonished  ?" 

"  But  then  you  are  English,  too?" 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  you  won't  love  me  the  less,  will  you  ?" 

15* 


174  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Ellen;  "my  own  mother  came  from  Scotland, 
aunt  Fortune  says." 

"  I  am  English  born,  Ellen,  but  you  may  count  me  half  Ameri 
can  if  you  like,  for  I  have  spent  rather  more  than  half  my  life 
here.  Come  this  way,  Ellen,  and  I'll  show  you  my  garden.  It  is 
some  distance  off,  but  as  near  as  a  spot  could  be  found  fit  for  it." 

They  quitted  the  house  by  a  little  steep  path  leading  down  the 
mountain,  which  in  two  or  three  minutes  brought  them  to  a  clear 
bit  of  ground.  It  was  not  large,  but  lying  very  prettily  among 
the  trees,  with  an  open  view  to  the  east  and  southeast.  On  the 
extreme  edge  and  at  the  lower  end  of  it  was  fixed  a  rude  bench, 
well  sheltered  by  the  towering  forest  trees.  Here  Alice  and  Ellen 
sat  down. 

It  was  near  sunset;  the  air  cool  and  sweet;  the  evening  light 
upon  field  and  sky. 

"How  fair  it  is!"  said  Alice  musingly;  "how  fair  and  lovely! 
Look  at  those  long  shadows  of  the  mountains,  Ellen  ;  and  how 
bright  the  light  is  on  the  far  hills.  It  won't  be  so  long.  A  little 
while  more,  and  our  Indian  summer  will  be  over ;  and  then  the 
clouds,  the  frost,  and  the  wind,  and  the  snow.  Well,  let  them 
come." 

"I  wish  they  wouldn't,  I  am  sure,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  am  sorry 
enough  they  are  coming." 

"  Why  ? — all  seasons  have  their  pleasures.  I  am  not  sorry  at 
all ;  I  like  the  cold  very  much." 

"  I  guess  you  wouldn't,  Miss  Alice,  if  you  had  to  wash  every 
morning  where  I  do." 

"Why,  where  is  that?" 

"Down  at  the  spout." 

"  At  the  spout — what  is  that,  pray  ?" 

"The  spout  of  water,  ma'am,  just  down  a  little  way  from  the 
kitchen  door.  The  water  comes  in  a  little  long,  very  long,  trough 
from  a  spring  at  the  back  of  the  pig-field,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
trough,  where  it  pours  out,  is  the  spout." 

"  Have  you  no  conveniences  for  washing  in  your  room  ?" 

"  Not  a  sign  of  such  a  thing,  ma'am.  I  have  washed  at  the 
spout  ever  since  I  have  been  here,"  said  Ellen,  laughing  in  spite  of 
her  vexation. 

"And  do  the  pigs  share  the  water  with  you?" 

"  The  pigs?  Oh,  no,  ma'am  ;  the  trough  is  raised  up  from  the 
ground  on  little  heaps  of  stones;  they  can't  get  at  the  water, — 
unless  they  drink  at  the  spring,  and  I  don't  think  they  do  that,  so 
many  big  stones  stand  around  it." 

"  Well,  Ellen,  I  must  say  that  is  rather  uncomfortable,  even 
without  any  danger  of  four-footed  society." 

"It  isn't  so  bad  just  now,"  said  Ellen,  "  in  this  warm  weather, 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  175 

but  in  that  cold  time  we  had  a  week  or  two  back,  do  you  remember, 
Miss  Alice  ? — just  before  the  Indian  summer  began  ? — oh,  how 
disagreeable  it  was !  Early  in  the  morning,  you  know, — the  sun 
scarcely  up,  and  the  cold  wind  blowing  my  hair  and  my  clothes  all 
about ;  and  then  that  board  before  the  spout,  that  I  have  to  stand 
on,  is  always  kept  wet  by  the  spattering  of  the  water,  and  it's  muddy 
besides  and  very  slippery, — there's  a  kind  of  green  stuff  comes 
upon  it-  and  I  can't  stoop  down  for  fear  of  muddying  myself;  I 
have  to  tuck  my  clothes  round  me  and  bend  over  as  well  as  I  can, 
and  fetch  up  a  little  water  to  my  face  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand, 
and  of  course  I  have  to  do  that  a  great  many  times  before  I  get 
enough.  I  can't  help  laughing,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  it  isn't  a  laugh 
ing  matter  for  all  that." 

"  So  you  wash  your  face  in  your  hands  and  have  no  pitcher  but 
a  long  wooden  trough  ? — Poor  child  !  I  am  sorry  for  you  ;  I  think 
you  must  have  some  other  way  of  managing  before  the  snow 
comes." 

"  The  water  is  bitter  cold  already,"  said  Ellen,  "it's  the  coldest, 
water  I  ever  saw.  Mamma  gave  me  a  nice  dressing-box  before  I 
came  away,  but  I  found  very  soon  this  was  a  queer  place  for  a 
dressing-box  to  come  to.  Why,  Miss  Alice,  if  I  take  out  my  brush 
or  comb  I  haven't  any  table  to  lay  them  on  but  one  that's  too  high, 
and  my  poor  dressing-box  has  to  stay  on  the  floor.  And  I  haven't 
a  sign  of  a  bureau, — all  my  things  are  tumbling  about  in  my 
trunk." 

"  I  think  if  I  were  in  your  place  I  would  not  permit  that  at  any 
rate,"  said  Alice;  "if  my  things  were  confined  to  my  trunk  I 
would  have  them  keep  good  order  there  at  least." 

"Well,  so  they  do,"  said  Ellen, — "pretty  good  order;  I  didn't 
mean  '  tumbling  about'  exactly.1' 

"  Always  try  to  say  what  you  mean  exactly." 

"  But  now,  Ellen,  love,  do  you  know  I  must  send  you  away  ? 
Do  you  see  the  sunlight  has  quitted  those  distant  hills  ?  and  it  will 
be  quite  gone  soon.  You  must  hasten  home." 

Ellen  made  no  answer.  Alice  had  taken  her  on  her  lap  again, 
and  she  was  nestling  there  with  her  friend's  arms  wrapped  around 
her.  Both  were  quite  still  for  a  minute. 

"  Next  week,  if  nothing  happens,  we  will  begin  to  be  busy  with 
our  books.  You  shall  come  to  me  Tuesday  and  Friday ;  and  all 
the  other  days  you  must  study  as  hard  as  you  can  at  home,  for  I 
am  very  particular,  I  forewarn  you." 

"  But  suppose  aunt  Fortune  should  not  let  me  come  ?"  said 
Ellen  without  stirring. 

"Oh,  she  will.  You  need  not  speak  about  it;  I'll  come  down 
and  ask  her  myself,  and  nobody  ever  refuses  me  any  thing." 

"I  shouldn't  think  they  would,"  said  Ellen. 


176  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Then  don't  you  set  the  first  example,"  said  Alice  laughingly. 
"  I  ask  you  to  be  cheerful  and  happy  and  grow  wiser  and  better 
every  day." 

"Dear  Miss  Alice  ! — How  can  I  promise  that?" 

"  Dear  Ellen,  it  is  very  easy.  There  is  One  who  has  promised 
to  hear  and  answer  you  when  you  cry  to  him ;  he  will  make  you 
in  his  own  likeness  again ;  and  to  know  and  love  him  and  not  be 
happy,  is  impossible.  That  blessed  Saviour  !" — said  Alice, — "  oh, 
what  should  you  and  I  do  without  him,  Ellen  ? — '  as  rivers  of 
waters  in  a  dry  place ;  as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land ;' — how  beautiful !  how  true  !  how  often  I  think  of  that." 

Ellen  was  silent,  though  entering  into  the  feeling  of  the  words. 

"  Remember  him  dear  Ellen  ; — remember  your  best  friend. 
Learn  more  of  Christ,  our  dear  Saviour,  and  you  can't  help  but 
be  happy.  Never  fancy  you  are  helpless  and  friendless  while  you 
have  him  to  go  to.  Whenever  you  feel  wearied  and  sorry,  flee  to 
the  shadow  of  that  great  rock  ;  will  you  ? — and  do  you  understand 
me?" 

"Yes,  maram, — yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  lifted  her  lips 
to  kiss  her  friend.  Alice  heartily  returned  the  kiss,  and  pressing 
Ellen  in  her  arms  said, 

"  Now  Ellen,  dear,  you  must  go ;  I  dare  not  keep  you  any 
longer.  It  will  be  too  late  now,  I  fear,  before  you  reach  home." 

Quick  they  mounted  the  little  path  again,  and  soon  were  at  the 
house ;  and  Ellen  was  putting  on  her  things. 

"Next  Tuesday  remember, — but  before  that!  Sunday, — you  are 
to  spend  Sunday  with  me ;  come  bright  and  early." 

"How  early?" 

"  Oh,  as  early  as  you  please — before  breakfast — and  our  Sunday 
morning  breakfasts  aren't  late,  Ellen ;  we  have  to  set  off  betimes 
to  go  to  church." 

Kisses  and  good-by's  ;  and  then  Ellen  was  running  down  the 
road  at  a  great  rate,  for  twilight  was  beginning  to  gather,  and  she 
had  a  good  way  to  go. 

She  ran  till  out  of  breath ;  then  walked  a  while  to  gather 
breath ;  then  ran  again.  Running  down  hill  is  a  pretty  quick 
way  of  travelling;  so  before  very  long  she  saw  her  aunt's  house 
at  a  distance.  She  walked  now.  She  had  come  all  the  way  in 
good  spirits,  though  with  a  sense  upon  her  mind  of  something 
disagreeable  to  come ;  when  she  saw  the  house  this  disagreeable 
something  swallowed  up  all  her  thoughts,  and  she  walked  leisurely 
on,  pondering  what  she  had  to  do  and  what  she  was  like  to  meet 
in  the  doing  of  it. 

"  If  aunt  Fortune  should  be  in  a  bad  humour — and  say  some 
thing  to  vex  me, — but  I'll  not  be  vexed.  But  it  will  be  very  hard 
to  help  it ; — but  I  will  not  be  vexed ; — I  have  done  wrong,  and  I'll 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  177 

tell  her  so,  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me ; — it  will  be  hard, — but  I'll 
do  it — I'll  say  what  I  ought  to  say,  and  then  however  she  takes  it 
I  shall  have  the  comfort  of  knowing  I  have  done  right."  "  But," 
said  conscience,  "  you  must  not  say  it  stiffly  and  proudly ;  you 
must  say  it  humbly  and  as  if  you  really  felt  and  meant  it."  "I 
will,"  said  Ellen. 

She  paused  in  the  shed  and  looked  through  the  window  to  see 
what  was  the  promise  of  things  within.  Not  good ;  her  aunt's 
step  sounded  heavy  and  ominous ;  Ellen  guessed  she  was  not  in  a 
pleasant  state  of  mind.  She  opened  the  door, — no  doubt  of  it, — 
the  whole  air  of  Miss  Fortune's  figure,  to  the  very  handkerchief 
that  was  tied  round  her  head,  spoke  displeasure. 

"  She  isn't  in  a  good  mood,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  went  up  stairs  to 
leave  her  bonnet  and  cape  there  ; — "  I  never  knew  her  to  be  good- 
humoured  when  she  had  that  handkerchief  on." 

She  returned  to  the  kitchen  immediately.  Her  aunt  was 
busied  in  washing  and  wiping  the  dishes. 

"  I  have  come  home  rather  late,"  said  Ellen  pleasantly  ; — "  shall 
I  help  you,  aunt  Fortune?" 

Her  aunt  cast  a  look  at  her. 

"  Yes,  you  may  help  me.  Go  and  put  on  a  pair  of  white 
gloves  and  a  silk  apron,  and  then  you'll  be  ready." 

Ellen  looked  down  at  herself.  "  Oh,  my  merino  !  I  forgot  about 
that.  I'll  go  and  change  it." 

Miss  Fortune  said  nothing,  and  Ellen  went. 

When  she  came  back  the  things  were  all  wiped,  and  as  she 
was  about  to  put  some  of  them  away,  her  aunt  took  them  out  of 
her  hands,  bidding  her  "  go  and  sit  down  !" 

Ellen  obeyed  and  was  mute ;  while  Miss  Fortune  dashed  round 
with  a  display  of  energy  there  seemed  to  be  no  particular  call  for, 
and  speedily  had  every  thing  in  its  place  and  all  straight  and 
square  about  the  kitchen.  When  she  was,  as  a  last  thing,  brush 
ing  the  crumbs  from  the  floor  into  the  fire  she  broke  the  silence 
again.  The  old  grandmother  sat  in  the  chimney  corner,  but  she 
seldom  was  very  talkative  in  the  presence  of  her  stern  daughter. 

"  What  did  you  come  home  for  to-night?  Why  didn't  you  stay 
at  Mr.  Humphreys'  ?" 

"  Miss  Alice  didn't  ask  me." 

"That  means  I  suppose  that  you  would  if  she  had?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am;  Miss  Alice  wouldn't  have  asked  me  to 
do  any  thing  that  wasn't  right." 

"  Oh,  no  ! — of  course  not ; — Miss  Alice  is  a  piece  of  perfection  ; 
every  body  says  so;  and  I  suppose  you'd  sing  the  same  song  who 
haven't  seen  her  three  times." 

"  Indeed  I  would,"  said  Ellen;  "  I  could  have  told  that  in  one 
seeing.     I'd  do  any  thing  in  the  world  for  Miss  Alice." 
M 


178  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Ay — I  dare  say — that's  the  way  of  it.  You  can  show  not  one 
bit  of  goodness  or  pleasantness  to  the  person  that  does  the  most 
for  you  and  has  all  the  care  of  you, — but  the  first  stranger  that 
comes  along  you  can  be  all  honey  to  them,  and  make  yourself  out 
too  good  for  common  folks,  and  go  and  tell  great  tales  how  you 
are  used  at  home  I  suppose.  I  am  sick  of  it !"  said  Miss  Fortune, 
setting  up  the  andirons  and  throwing  the  tongs  and  shovel  into 
the  corner,  in  a  way  that  made  the  iron  ring  again.  "  One  might 
as  good  be  a  stepmother  at  once,  and  done  with  it !  Come,  mother, 
it's  time  for  you  to  go  to  bed." 

The  old  lady  rose  with  the  meekness  of  habitual  submission,  and 
went  up  stairs  with  her  daughter.  Ellen  had  time  to  bethink  her 
self  while  they  were  gone,  and  resolved  to  lose  no  time  when  her 
aunt  came  back  in  doing  what  she  had  to  do.  She  would  fain  have 
persuaded  herself  to  put  it  off.  "It  is  late,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"  it  isn't  a  good  time.  It  will  be  better  to  go  to  bed  now,  and  ask 
aunt  Fortune's  pardon  to-morrow."  But  conscience  said,  "First 
be  reconciled  to  thy  brother." 

Miss  Fortune  came  down  stairs  presently.  But  before  Ellen 
could  get  any  words  out,  her  aunt  prevented  her. 

"Come,  light  your  candle  and  be  off;  I  want  you  out  of  the 
way ;  I  can't  do  any  thing  with  half  a  dozen  people  about." 

Ellen  rose.    "  I  want  to  say  something  to  you  first,  aunt  Fortune." 

"  Say  it  and  be  quick  ;  I  haven't  time  to  stand  talking." 

"Aunt  Fortune,"  said  Ellen,  stumbling  over  her  words, — "I 
want  to  tell  you  that  I  know  I  was  wrong  this  morning,  and  I  am 
sorry,  and  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me." 

A  kind  of  indignant  laugh  escaped  from  Miss  Fortune's  lips. 

"It's  easy  talking  ;  I'd  rather  have  acting.  I'd  rather  see  peo 
ple  mend  their  ways  than  stand  and  make  speeches  about  them. 
Being  sorry  don't  help  the  matter  much." 

"  But  I  will  try  not  to  do  so  any  more,"  said  Ellen. 

"  When  I  see  you  don't  I  shall  begin  to  think  there  is  something 
in  it.  Actions  speak  louder  than  words.  I  don't  believe  in  this 
jumping  into  goodness  all  at  once." 

"  Well,  I  will  try  not  to,  at  any  rate,"  said  Ellen  sighing. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  see  it.  What  has  brought  you  into  this 
sudden  fit  of  dutifulness  and  fine  talking?" 

'<  Miss  Alice  told  me  I  ought  to  ask  your  pardon  for  what  I  had 
done  wrong,"  said  Ellen,  scarce  able  to  keep  from  crying;  "and  I 
know  I  did  wrong  this  morning,  and  I  did  wrong  the^  other  day 
about  the  letter;  and  I  am  sorry,  whether  you  believe  it  or  no." 

"  Miss  Alice  told  you,  did  she  ?  So  all  this  is  ^to  please  Miss 
Alice.  I  suppose  you  were  afraid  your  friend  Miss  Alice  would 
hear  of  some  of  your  goings  on,  and  thought  you  had  better  make 
up  with  me.  Is  that  it?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  179 

Ellen  answered,  "No,  ma'am,"  in  a  low  tone,  but  had  no  voice 
to  say  more. 

"  I  wish  Miss  Alice  would  look  after  her  own  affairs,  and  let 
other  people's  houses  alone.  That's  always  the  way  with  your 
pieces  of  perfection ; — they're  eternally  finding  out  something  that 
isn't  as  it  ought  to  be  among  their  neighbours.  I  think  people 
that  don't  set  up  for  being  quite  such  great  things  get  along  quite 
as  well  in  the  world." 

Ellen  was  strongly  tempted  to  reply,  but  kept  her  lips  shut. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "if  you  want  me  to 
believe  that  all  this  talk  means  something  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
shall  do, — you  shall  just  tell  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to-morrow  about  it 
all,  and  how  ugly  you  have  been  these  two  days,  and  let  him 
know  you  were  wrong  and  I  was  right.  I  believe  he  thinks  you 
cannot  do  any  thing  wrong,  and  I  should  like  him  to  know  it  for 
once." 

Ellen  struggled  hard  with  herself  before  she  could  speak  ;  Miss 
Fortune's  lips  began  to  wear  a  scornful  smile. 

"I'll  tell  him!"  said  Ellen,  at  length;  "I'll  tell  him  I  was 
wrong,  if  you  wish  me  to." 

"  I  do  wish  it.  I  like  people's  eyes  to  be  opened.  It'll  do  him 
good,  I  guess,  and  you  too.  Now,  have  you  any  thing  more  to 
say?" 

Ellen  hesitated ; — the  colour  came  and  went ; — she  knew  it 
wasn't  a  good  time,  but  how  could  she  wait? 

"Aunt  Fortune,"  she  said,  "you  know  I  told  you  I  behaved 
very  ill  about  that  letter, — won't  you  forgive  me?" 

"  Forgive  you?  yes,  child;  I  don't  care  any  thing  about  it." 

"  Then  you  will  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  have  my  letter  again?" 
said  Ellen,  timidly. 

"Oh,  I  can't  be  bothered  to  look  for  it  now;  I'll  see  about  ii 
some  other  time;  take  your  candle  and  go  to  bed  now  if  you've 
nothing  more  to  say." 

Ellen  took  her  candle  and  went.  Some  tears  were  wrung  from 
her  by  hurt  feeling  and  disappointment ;  but  she  had  the  smile  of 
conscience,  and  as  she  believed  of  Him  whose  witness  conscience 
is.  She  remembered  that  "  great  rock  in  a  weary  land,"  and  she 
went  to  sleep  in  the  shadow  of  it. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday.  Ellen  was  up  early,  and  aftei 
carefully  performing  her  toilet  duties,  she  had  a  nice  long  houi 
before  it  was  time  to  go  down  stairs.  The  use  she  made  of 
this  hour  had  fitted  her  to  do  cheerfully  and  well  her  morning 
work ;  and  Ellen  would  have  sat  down  to  breakfast  in  excellent 
spirits  if  it  had  not  been  for  her  promised  disclosure  to  Mr.  Van 
Brunt.  It  vexed  her  a  little.  "I  told  aunt  Fortune, — that  was 
all  right ;  but  why  I  should  be  obliged  to  tell  Mr.  Van  Brunt  I 


180  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

don't  know.  But  if  it  convinces  aunt  Fortune  that  I  am  in  earnest, 
and  meant  what  I  say? — then  I  had  better." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  uncommonly  grave,  she  thought;  her 
aunt,  uncommonly  satisfied.  Ellen  had  more  than  half  a  guess  at 
the  reason  of  both  ;  but  make  up  her  mind  to  speak,  she  could  not, 
during  all  breakfast  time.  She  eat  without  knowing  what  she  was 
eating. 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  at  length,  having  finished  his  meal  without  say 
ing  a  syllable,  arose  and  was  about  to  go  forth,  when  Miss  Fortune 
stopped  him.  "  Wait  a  minute,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  she  said,  "  Ellen 
has  something  to  say  to  you.  Go  ahead,  Ellen." 

Ellen  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the  smile  with  which  these  words 
were  spoken.  She  crimsoned  and  hesitated. 

"  Ellen  and  I  had  some  trouble  yesterday,"  said  Miss  Fortune, 
"and  she  wants  to  tell  you  about  it." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  stood  gravely  waiting. 

Ellen  raised  her  eyes,  which  were  full,  to  his  face.  "  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,"  she  said,  "  aunt  Fortune  wants  me  to  tell  you  what  I  told 
her  last  night, — that  I  knew  I  behaved  as  I  ought  not  to  her  yes 
terday,  and  the  day  before,  and  other  times." 

"  And  what  made  you  do  that?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"Tell  him,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  colouring,  "that  you  were  in 
the  wrong  and  I  was  in  the  right — then  he'll  believe  it,  I  suppose." 

"I  was  wrong,"  said  Ellen. 

"And  I  was  right,"  said  Miss  Fortune. 

Ellen  was  silent.     Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 

"  Speak,"  said  Miss  Fortune  ;  "  tell  him  the  whole  if  you  mean 
what  you  say." 

"I  can't,"  said  Ellen. 

"Why,  you  said  you  were  wrong,"  said  Miss  Fortune;  "that's 
only  half  of  the  business  ;  if  you  were  wrong  I  was  right ;  why 
don't  you  say  so,  and  not  make  such  a  shilly-shally  piece  of  work 
of  it?" 

"  I  said  I  was  wrong,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  so  I  was ;  but  I  never 
said  you  were  right,  aunt  Fortune,  and  I  don't  think  so." 

These  words,  though  moderately  spoken,  were  enough  to  put 
Miss  Fortune  in  a  rage. 

11  What  did  I  do  that  was  wrong?"  she  said  ;  "  come,  I  should 
like  to  know.  What  was  it,  Ellen  ?  Out  with  it ;  say  every  thing 
you  can  think  of;  stop  and  hear  it,  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  come.  Ellen, 
let's  hear  the  whole!" 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,  I've  heerd  quite  enough,"  said  that  gentle 
man,  as  he  went  out  and  closed  the  door. 

"  And  I  have  said  too  much,"  said  Ellen.  "  Pray,  forgive  me, 
aunt  Fortune.  I  shouldn't  have  said  that  if  you  hadn't  pressed 
me  so  ;  I  forgot  myself  a  moment.  I  am  sorry  I  said  that." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  181 

"  Forgot  yourself !"  said  Miss  Fortune;  "I  wish  you'd  forget 
yourself  out  of  my  house.  Please  to  forget  the  place  where  I  am 
for  to-day,  anyhow  ;  I've  got  enough  of  you  for  one  while.  You 
had  better  go  to  Miss  Alice  and  get  a  new  lesson ;  and  tell  her  you 
are  coming  on  finely." 

Gladly  would  Ellen  indeed  have  gone  to  Miss  Alice,  but  as  the 
next  day  was  Sunday  she  thought  it  best  to  wait.  She  went  sorrow 
fully  to  her  own  room.  "  Why  couldn't  I  be  quiet?"  said  Ellen. 
' '  If  I  had  only  held  my  tongue  that  unfortunate  minute  !  what 
possessed  me  to  say  that  ?" 

Strong  passion — strong  pride. — both  long  unbroken  ;  and  Ellen 
had  yet  to  learn  that  many  a  prayer  and  many  a  tear,  much  watch 
fulness,  much  help  from  on  high,  must  be  hers  before  she  could  be 
thoroughly  dispossessed  of  these  evil  spirits.  But  she  knew  her 
sickness  ;  she  had  applied  to  the  Physician  ; — she  was  in  a  fair  way 
to  be  well. 

One  thought  in  her  solitary  room  that  day  drew  streams  of  tears 
down  Ellen's  cheeks.  "  My  letter — my  letter!  what  shall  I  do  to 
get  you  !"  she  said  to  herself.  "  It  serves  me  right;  I  oughtn't  to 
have  got  in  a  passion  ;  oh,  I  have  got  a  lesson  this  time  1" 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Tranquilitie 

So  purely  sate  there,  that  waves  great  nor  small 
Did  ever  rise  to  any  height  at  all. 

CHAPMAN. 

THE  Sunday  with  Alice  met  all  Ellen's  hopes.  She  wrote  a  very 
long  letter  to  her  mother  giving  the  full  history  of  the  day.  How 
pleasantly  they  had  ridden  to  church  on  the  pretty  grey  pony, — 
she  half  the  way,  and  Alice  the  other  half,  talking  to  each  other 
all  the  while ;  for  Mr.  Humphreys  had  ridden  on  before.  How 
lovely  the  road  was,  "winding  about  round  the  mountain,  up  and 
down,"  and  with  such  a  wide,  fair  view,  and  "part  of  the  time 
close  along  by  the  edge  of  the  water."  This  had  been  Ellen's  first 
ride  on  horseback.  Then  the  letter  described  the  little  Carra-carra 
church — Mr.  Humphreys'  excellent  sermon,  "  every  word  of  which 
she  could  understand;"  Alice's  Sunday  School,  in  which  she  was 
sole  teacher,  and  how  Ellen  had  four  little  ones  put  under  her  care  ; 
and  told  how  while  Mr.  Humphreys  went  on  to  hold  a  second  ser 
vice  at  a  village  some  six  miles  off,  his  daughter  ministered  to  two 
infirm  old  women  at  Carra-carra, — reading  and  explaining  the  Bible 

16 


182  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

to  the  one,  and  to  the  other,  who  was  blind,  repeating  the  whole 
substance  of  her  father's  sermon.  "  Miss  Alice  told  me  that  no 
body  could  enjoy  a  sermon  better  than  that  old  woman,  but  she 
cannot  go  out,  and  every  Sunday  Miss  Alice  goes  and  preaches  to 
her,  she  says."  How  Ellen  went  home  in  the  boat  with  Thomas 
and  Margery,  and  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  and  night  also  at  the 
parsonage ;  and  how  polite  and  kind  Mr.  Humphreys  had  been. 
"  He's  a  very  grave-looking  man  indeed,"  said  the  letter,  "  and  not 
a  bit  like  Miss  Alice ;  he  is  a  great  deal  older  than  I  expected." 

This  letter  was  much  the  longest  Ellen  had  ever  written  in  her 
life ;  but  she  had  set  her  heart  on  having  her  mother's  sympathy 
in  her  new  pleasures,  though  not  to  be  had  but  after  the  lapse  of 
many  weeks  and  beyond  a  sad  interval  of  land  and  sea.  Still,  she 
must  have  it ;  and  her  little  fingers  travelled  busily  over  the  paper 
hour  after  hour,  as  she  found  time,  till  the  long  epistle  was  finished. 
She  was  hard  at  work  at  it  Tuesday  afternoon  when  her  aunt  called 
her  down  ;  and  obeying  the  call,  to  her  great  surprise  and  delight 
she  found  Alice  seated  in  the  chimney  corner  and  chatting  away 
with  her  old  grandmother,  who  looked  remarkably  pleased.  Miss 
Fortune  was  bustling  round  as  usual,  looking  at  nobody,  though 
putting  in  her  word  now  and  then. 

"  Come,  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  "  get  your  bonnet ;  I  am  going  up 
the  mountain  to  see  Mrs.  Vawse,  and  your  aunt  has  given  leave  for 
you  to  go  with  me.  Wrap  yourself  up  well,  for  it  is  not  warm." 

Without  waiting  for  a  word  of  answer,  Ellen  joyfully  ran  off. 

"  You  have  chosen  rather  an  ugly  day  for  your  walk,  Miss 
Alice." 

"  Can't  expect  pretty  days  in  December,  Miss  Fortune.  I  am 
only  too  happy  it  doesn't  storm  ;  it  will  by  to-morrow,  I  think. 
But  I  have  learned  not  to  mind  weathers." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  have,"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "  You'll  stop  up 
on  the  mountain  till  supper-time,  I  guess,  won't  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  shall  want  something  to  fortify  me  before  coming 
home  after  such  a  long  tramp.  You  see  I  have  brought  a  basket 
along.  I  thought  it  safest  to  take  a  loaf  of  bread  with  me,  for  no 
one  can  tell  what  may  be  in  Mrs.  Vawse's  cupboard,  and  to  lose  our 
supper  is  not  a  thing  to  be  thought  of." 

"  Well,  have  you  looked  out  for  butter,  too?  for  you'll  find  none 
where  you're  going.  I  don't  know  how  the  old  lady  lives  up  there, 
but  it's  without  butter,  I  reckon." 

"  I  have  taken  care  of  that,  too,  thank  you,  Miss  Fortune.  You 
see  I'm  a  far-sighted  creature." 

"  Ellen,"  said  her  aunt,  as  Ellen  now,  cloaked  and  hooded,  came 
in,  "go  into  the  buttery  and  fetch  out  one  of  them  pumpkin  pies 
to  put  in  Miss  Alice's  basket." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Fortune,"  said  Alice,  smiling,  "I  shall  tell 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  183 

Mrs.  Vawse  who  it  comes  from.  Now,  my  dear,  let's  be  off;  we 
have  a  long  walk  before  us." 

Ellen  was  quite  ready  to  be  off.  But  no  sooner  had  she  opened 
the  outer  shed  door  than  her  voice  was  heard  in  astonishment. 

"  A  cat ! — What  cat  is  this  ?  Miss  Alice  !  look  here  ; — here's  the 
Captain  I  do  believe." 

"  Here  is  the  Captain,  indeed,"  said  Alice.  "  Oh,  pussy,  pussy, 
what  have  you  come  for  1" 

Pussy  walked  up  to  his  mistress,  and  stroking  himself  and  his 
great  tail  against  her  dress,  seemed  to  say  that  he  had  come  for  her 
sake,  and  that  it  made  no  difference  to  him  where  she  was  going. 

"  He  was  sitting  as  gravely  as  possible,"  said  Ellen,  "on  the 
stone  just  outside  the  door,  waiting  for  the  door  to  be  opened.  How 
could  he  have  come  here?" 

"  Why,  he  has  followed  me,"  said  Alice;  "he  often  does;  but 
I  came  quick  and  I  thought  I  had  left  him  at  home  to-day.  This 
is  too  long  an  expedition  for  him.  Kitty — I  wish  you  had  stayed 
at  home." 

Kitty  did  not  think  so ;  he  was  arching  his  neck  and  purring  in 
acknowledgment  of  Alice's  soft  touch. 

"  Can't  you  send  him  back?"  said  Ellen. 

"  No,  my  dear ;  he  is  the  most  sensible  of  cats  no  doubt,  but  he 
could  by  no  means  understand  such  an  order.  No,  we  must  let  him 
trot  on  after  us,  and  when  he  gets  tired  I'll  carry  him  ;  it  won't  be 
the  first  time  by  a  good  many." 

They  set  off  with  a  quick  pace,  which  the  weather  forbade  them 
to  slacken.  It  was  somewhat  as  Miss  Fortune  had  said,  an  ugly 
afternoon.  The  clouds  hung  cold  and  grey,  and  the  air  had  a  raw 
chill  feeling  that  betokened  a  coming  snow.  The  wind  blew  strong 
too,  and  seemed  to  carry  the  dullness  through  all  manner  of  wrap 
pers.  Alice  and  Ellen  however  did  not  much  care  for  it ;  they 
walked  and  ran  by  turns,  only  stopping  once  in  a  while  when  poor 
Captain's  uneasy  cry  warned  them  they  had  left  him  too  far  behind. 
Still  he  would  not  submit  to  be  carried,  but  jumped  down  whenever 
Alice  attempted  it,  and  trotted  on  most  perseveringly.  As  they 
neared  the  foot  of  the  mountain  they  were  somewhat  sheltered 
from  the  wind,  and  could  afford  to  walk  more  slowly. 

"  How  is  it  between  you  and  your  aunt  Fortune  now?"  said 
Alice. 

"  Oh,  we  don't  get  on  well  at  all,  Miss  Alice,  and  I  don't  know 
exactly  what  to  do.  You  know  I  said  I  would  ask  her  pardon. 
Well  I  did,  the  same  night  after  I  got  home,  but  it  was  very  dis 
agreeable.  She  didn't  seem  to  believe  I  was  in  earnest,  and  wanted 
me  to  tell  Mr.  Van  Brunt  that  I  had  been  wrong.  I  thought  that 
was  rather  hard  ;  but  at  any  rate  I  said  I  would  ;  and  next  morning 
I  did  tell  him  so  j  and  I  believe  all  would  have  gone  well  if  I  could 


184  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

only  have  Deen  quiet ;  but  aunt  Fortune  said  something  that  vexed 
me,  and  almost  before  I  knew  it  I  said  something  that  vexed  her 
dreadfully.  It  was  nothing  very  bad,  Miss  Alice,  though  I  ought 
not  to  have  said  it;  and  I  was  sorry  two  minutes  after,  but  I  just 
got  provoked ;  and  what  shall  I  do,  for  it's  so  hard  to  prevent  it?" 

"  The  only  thing  I  know,"  said  Alice  with  a  slight  smile,  "  is  to 
be  full  of  that  charity  which  among  other  lovely  ways  of  showing 
itself  has  this, — that  it  is  'not  easily  provoked.'  " 

"  I  am  easily  provoked,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Then  you  know  one  thing  at  any  rate  that  is  to  be  watched  and 
prayed  and  guarded  against ;  it  is  no  little  matter  to  be  acquainted 
with  one's  own  weak  points." 

"  I  tried  so  hard  to  keep  quiet  that  morning,"  said  Ellen,  "  and 
if  I  only  could  have  let  that  unlucky  speech  alone — but  somehow 
I  forgot  myself,  and  I  just  told  her  what  I  thought." 

"  Which  it  is  very  often  best  not  to  do." 

"I  do  believe,"  said  Ellen,  "  aunt  Fortune  would  like  to  have 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  not  like  me." 

"  Well,"  said  Alice, — "  what  then  ?" 

"Nothing,  I  suppose,  ma'am." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  lay  it  up  against  her?" 

"  No,  ma'am, — I  hope  not." 

"Take  care,  dear  Ellen,  don't  take  up  the  trade  of  suspecting 
evil ;  you  could  not  take  up  a  worse  ;  and  even  when  it  is  forced 
upon  you,  see  as  little  of  it  as  you  can,  and  forget  as  soon  as  you 
can  what  you  see.  Your  aunt,  it  may  be,  is  not  a  very  happy 
person,  and  no  one  can  tell  but  those  that  are  unhappy  how  hard  it 
is  not  to  be  unamiable  too.  Return  good  for  evil  as  fast  as  you 
can ;  and  you  will  soon  either  have  nothing  to  complain  of  or  be 
very  well  able  to  bear  it." 

They  now  began  to  go  up  the  mountain,  and  the  path  became  in 
places  steep  and  rugged  enough.  "  There  is  an  easier  way  on  the 
other  side,"  said  Alice,  "  but  this  is  the  nearest  for  us."  Captain 
Parry  now  showed  signs  of  being  decidedly  weary,  and  permitted 
Alice  to  take  him  up.  But  he  presently  mounted  from  her  arms 
to  her  shoulder,  and  to  Ellen's  great  amusement  kept  his  place  there, 
passing  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other,  and  every  now  and  then 
sticking  his  nose  up  into  her  bonnet  as  if  to  kiss  her. 

"  What  does  he  do  that  for  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Because  he  loves  me  and  is  pleased,"  said  Alice.  "  Put  your 
ear  close,  Ellen,  and  hear  the  quiet  way  he  is  purring  to  himself — 
do  you  hear? — that's  his  way;  he  very  seldom  purrs  aloud." 

"  He's  a  very  funny  cat,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  Cat."  said  Alice, — "  there  isn't  such  a  cat  as  this  to  be  seen. 
He's  a  cat  to  be  respected,  my  old  Captain  Parry.  He  is  not  to  be 
laughed  at  Ellen,  I  can  tell  you  " 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  185 

The  travellers  went  on  with  good  will ;  but  the  path  was  so  steep 
and  the  way  so  long  that  when  about  half  way  up  the  mountain 
they  were  fain  to  follow  the  example  of  their  four-footed  companion 
and  rest  themselves.  They  sat  down  on  the  ground.  They  had 
warmed  themselves  with  walking,  but  the  weather  was  as  chill  and 
disagreeable  and  gusty  as  ever ;  every  now  and  then  the  wind  came 
sweeping  by,  catching  up  the  dried  leaves  at  their  feet  and  whirling 
and  scattering  them  off  to  a  distance, — winter's  warning  voice. 

"  I  never  was  in  the  country  before  when  the  leaves  were  off  the 
trees,"  said  Ellen.  "It  isn't  so  pretty,  Miss  Alice,  do  you  think 
so?" 

"  So  pretty  ?  No,  I  suppose  not,  if  we  were  to  have  it  all  the 
while  ;  but  I  like  the  change  very  much." 

"  Do  you  like  to  see  the  leaves  off  the  trees?" 

"Yes — in  the  time  of  it.  There's  beauty  in  the  leafless  trees 
that  you  cannot  see  in  summer.  Just  look,  Ellen — no,  I  cannot 
find  you  a  nice  specimen  here,  they  grow  too  thick  ;  but  where  they 
have  room  the  way  the  branches  spread  and  ramify,  or  branch  out 
again,  is  most  beautiful.  There's  first  the  trunk — then  the  large 
branches — then  those  divide  into  smaller  ones ;  and  those  part  and 
part  again  into  smaller  and  smaller  twigs,  till  you  are  canopied  as  it 
were  with  a  network  of  fine  stems.  And  when  the  snow  falls  gently  on 
them — Oh,  Ellen,  winter  has  its  own  beauties.  I  love  it  all ;  the 
cold,  and  the  wind,  and  the  snow,  and  the  bare  forests,  and  our 
little  river  of  ice.  What  pleasant  sleigh-rides  to  church  I  have 
had  upon  that  river.  And  then  the  evergreens, — look  at  them ; 
you  don't  know  in  summer  how  much  they  are  worth  ;  wait  till  you 
see  the  hemlock  branches  bending  with  a  weight  of  snow,  and  then 
if  you  don't  say  the  winter  is  beautiful  I'll  give  you  up  as  a  young 
lady  of  bad  taste." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  like  what 
you  like.  But,  Miss  Alice,  what  makes  the  leaves  fall  when  the 
cold  weather  comes?" 

"  A  very  pretty  question,  Ellen,  and  one  that  can't  be  answered 
in  a  breath." 

"  I  asked  aunt  Fortune  the  other  day,"  said  Ellen,  laughing  very 
heartily, — "and  she  told  me  to  hush  up  and  not  be  a  fool ;  and  I 
told  her  I  really  wanted  to  know,  and  she  said  she  wouldn't  make 
herself  a  simpleton  if  she  was  in  my  place ;  so  I  thought  I  might 
as  well  be  quiet." 

"  By  the  time  the  cold  weather  comes,  Ellen,  the  leaves  have 
done  their  work  and  are  no  more  needed.  Do  you  know  what  work 
they  have  to  do? — do  you  know  what  is  the  use  of  leaves?" 

"Why,  for  prettiness,  I  suppose,"  said  Ellen,  "and  to  give 
shade ; — I  don't  know  anything  else." 

"Shade  is  one  of  their  uses,  no  doubt,  and  prettiness  too;  he 

16* 


186  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

who  made  the  trees  made  them  '  pleasant  to  the  eyes'  as  well  as 
good  for  food.'  So  we  have  an  infinite  variety  of  leaves  ;  one 
shape  would  have  done  the  work  just  as  well  for  every  kind  of  tree, 
but  then  we  should  have  lost  a  great  deal  of  pleasure.  But,  Ellen, 
the  tree  could  not  live  without  leaves.  In  the  spring  the  thin  sap 
which  the  roots  suck  up  from  the  ground  is  drawn  into  the  leaves ; 
there  by  the  help  of  the  sun  and  air  it  is  thickened  and  prepared 
in  a  way  you  cannot  understand,  and  goes  back  to  supply  the  wood 
with  the  various  matters  necessary  for  its  growth  and  hardness. 
After  this  has  gone  on  some  time  the  little  vessels  of  the  leaves 
become  clogged  and  stopped  up  with  earthy  and  other  matter ;  they 
cease  to  do  their  work  any  longer ;  the  hot  sun  dries  them  up  more 
and  more,  and  by  the  time  the  frost  comes  they  are  as  good  as  dead. 
That  finishes  them,  and  they  drop  off  from  the  branch  that  needs 
them  no  more.  Do  you  understand  all  this?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  very  well,"  said  Ellen  ;  "and  it's  exactly  what  I 
wanted  to  know,  and  very  curious.  So  the  trees  couldn't  live  with 
out  leaves?" 

"  No  more  than  you  could  without  a  heart  and  lungs." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  know  that,"  said  Ellen.  "Then  how  is  it 
with  the  evergreens,  Miss  Alice?  Why  don't  their  leaves  die  and 
drop  off  too?" 

"  They  do ;  look  how  the  ground  is  carpeted  under  that  pine 
tree." 

"  But  they  stay  green  all  winter,  don't  they  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  their  leaves  are  fitted  to  resist  frost ;  I  don't  know  what 
the  people  in  cold  countries  would  do  else.  They  have  the  fate  of 
all  other  leaves  however ;  they  live  awhile,  do  their  work,  and  then 
die  ;  not  all  at  once  though ;  there  is  always  a  supply  left  on  the 
tree.  Are  we  rested  enough  to  begin  again?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Ellen;  "I  don't  know  about  the  Captain.  Poor 
fellow!  he's  fast  asleep.  I  declare  it's  too  bad  to  wake  you  up, 
pussy.  Haven't  we  had  a  pleasant  little  rest,  Miss  Alice  ?  I  have 
learnt  something  while  we  have  been  sitting  here." 

"  That  is  pleasant,  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  as  they  began  their 
upward  march  ; — "  I  would  I  might  be  all  the  while  learning  some 
thing." 

"But  you  have  been  teaching,  Miss  Alice,  and  that's  as  good. 
Mamma  used  to  say  it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

"  Thank  you,  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  smiling;  "  that  ought  to  satisfy 
me  certainly." 

They  bent  themselves  against  the  steep  hill  again  and  pressed 
on.  As  they  rose  higher  they  felt  it  grow  more  cold  and  bleak ; 
the  woods  gave  them  less  shelter,  and  the  wind  swept  round  the 
mountain-head  and  over  them  with  great  force,  making  their  way 
quite  difficult. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


187 


"  Courage,  Ellen !"  said  Alice,  as  they  struggled  on ;  "  we  shall 
soon  be  there." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  panting  Ellen,  as  making  an  effort  she 
came  up  alongside  of  Alice — "  I  wonder  why  Mrs.  Vawse  will  live 
in  such  a  disagreeable  place." 

"It  is  not  disagreeable  to  her,  Ellen  ;  though  I  must  say  I  should 
not  like  to  have  too  much  of  this  wind." 

"  But  does  she  really  like  to  live  up  here  better  than  down  below 
where  it  is  warmer? — and  all  alone  too?" 

"  Yes,  she  does.  Ask  her  why,  Ellen,  and  see  what  she  will  tell 
you.  She  likes  it  so  much  better  that  this  little  cottage  was  built 
on  purpose  for  her  near  ten  years  ago,  by  a  good  old  friend  of  hers, 
a  connection  of  the  lady  whom  she  followed  to  this  country." 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen,  "  she  must  have  a  queer  taste — that  is  all 
I  can  say." 

They  were  now  within  a  few  easy  steps  of  the  house,  which  did 
not  look  so  uncomfortable  when  they  came  close  to  it.  It  was 
small  and  low,  of  only  one  story,  though  it  is  true  the  roof  ran  up 
very  steep  to  a  high  and  sharp  gable.  It  was  perched  so  snugly  in 
a  niche  of  the  hill  that  the  little  yard  was  completely  sheltered 
with  a  high  wall  of  rock.  The  house  itself  stood  out  more  boldly 
and  caught  pretty  well  near  all  the  winds  that  blew ;  but  so,  Alice 
informed  Ellen,  the  inmate  liked  to  have  it. 

"And  that  roof,"  said  Alice, — "she  begged  Mr.  Marshman 
when  the  cottage  was  building  that  the  roof  might  be  high  and 
pointed ;  she  said  her  eyes  were  tired  with  the  low  roofs  of  this 
country,  and  if  he  would  have  it  made  so  it  would  be  a  great  relief 
to  them." 

The  odd  roof  Ellen  thought  was  pretty.  But  they  now  reached 
the  door,  protected  with  a  deep  porch.  Alice  entered  and  knocked 
at  the  other  door.  They  were  bade  to  come  in.  A  woman  was 
there  stepping  briskly  back  and  forth  before  a  large  spinning-wheel. 
She  half  turned  her  head  to  see  who  the  comers  were,  then  stopped 
her  wheel  instantly,  and  came  to  meet  them  with  open  arms. 

"  Miss  Alice !  dear  Miss  Alice,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you." 

"  And  I  you,  dear  Mrs.  Vawse,"  said  Alice  kissing  her.  "  Here's 
another  friend  you  must  welcome  for  my  sake — little  Ellen  Mont 
gomery." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  Miss  Ellen,"  said  the  old  woman,  kissing 
her  also ;  and  Ellen  did  not  shrink  from  the  kiss,  so  pleasant  were 
the  lips  that  tendered  it ;  so  kind  and  frank  the  smile,  so  winning 
the  eye ;  so  agreeable  the  whole  air  of  the  person.  She  turned  from 
Ellen  again  to  Miss  Alice. 

"It's  a  long  while  that  I  have  not  seen  you,  dear, — not  since 
you  went  to  Mrs.  Marshman' s.  And  what  a  day  you  have  chosen 
to  come  at  last!" 


188 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Alice,  pulling  off  her  bonnet, — "I 
couldn't  wait  any  longer.  I  wanted  to  see  you  dolefully,  Mrs. 
Vawse." 

"Why,  my  dear?  what's  the  matter?  I  have  wanted  to  see  yow, 
but  not  dolefully." 

"  That's  the  very  thing,  Mrs.  Vawse  ;  I  wanted  to  see  you  to  get 
a  lesson  of  quiet  contentment." 


"  I  never  thought  you  wanted  such  a  lesson,  Miss  Alice.  What's 
the  matter?" 

"  I  can't  get  over  John's  going  away." 

Her  lip  trembled  and  her  eye  was  swimming  as  she  said  so.  The 
old  woman  passed  her  hands  over  the  gentle  head  and  kissed  her 
brow. 

"  So  I  thought — so  I  felt,  when  my  mistress  died ;  and  my  >uis- 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  189 

band ;  and  my  sons,  one  after  the  other.  But  now  I  think  I  can 
say  with  Paul,  '  I  have  learned  in  whatsoever  state  I  am  therewith 
to  be  content.'  I  think  so  ;  maybe  that  I  deceive  myself;  but  they 
are  all  gone,  and  I  am  certain  that  I  am  content  now." 

"  Then  surely  I  ought  to  be,"  said  Alice. 

"  It  is  not  till  one  looses  one's  hold  of  other  things  and  looks  to 
Jesus  alone  that  one  finds  how  much  he  can  do.  '  There  is  a  friend 
that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother ;'  but  I  never  knew  all  that 
meant  till  I  had  no  other  friends  to  lean  upon  ; — nay,  I  should  not 
say  no  other  friends  ; — but  my  dearest  were  taken  away.  You  have 
your  dearest  still,  Miss  Alice." 

"  Two  of  them,"  said  Alice  faintly  ;— "  and  hardly  that  now." 

"  I  have  not  one,"  said  the  old  woman, — "  I  have  not  one  ;  but 
my  home  is  in  heaven,  and  my  Saviour  is  there  preparing  a  place  for 
me.  I  know  it — I  am  sure  of  it — and  I  can  wait  a  little  while, 
and  rejoice  all  the  while  I  am  waiting.  Dearest  Miss  Alice — 
'  none  of  them  that  trust  in  him  shall  be  desolate ;'  don't  you  believe 
that?" 

"I  do  surely,  Mrs.  Vawse,"  said  Alice,  wiping  away  a  tear  or 
two,  "  but  I  forget  it  sometimes  ;  or  the  pressure  of  present  pain  is 
too  much  for  all  that  faith  and  hope  can  do." 

"  It  hinders  faith  and  hope  from  acting — that  is  the  trouble. 
'  They  that  seek  the  Lord  shall  not  want  any  good  thing.'  I  know 
that  is  true,  of  my  own  experience;  so  will  you,  dear." 

"  I  know  it,  Mrs.  Vawse — I  know  it  all ;  but  it  does  me  good  to 
hear  you  say  it.  I  thought  I  should  become  accustomed  to  John's 
absence,  but  I  do  not  at  all ;  the  autumn  winds  all  the  while  seem 
to  sing  to  me  that  he  is  away." 

"  My  dear  love,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  it  sorrows  me  much  to  hear 
you  speak  so  ;  I  would  take  away  this  trial  from  you  if  I  could  ;  but 
He  knows  best.  Seek  to  live  nearer  to  the  Lord,  dear  Miss  Alice, 
and  he  will  give  you  much  more  than  he  has  taken  away." 

Alice  again  brushed  away  some  tears. 

"I  felt  I  must  come  and  see  you  to-day,"  said  she,  "and  you 
have  comforted  me  already.  The  sound  of  your  voice  always  does 
me  good.  I  catch  courage  and  patience  from  you  I  believe." 

"  '  As  iron  sharpeneth  iron,  so  a  man  sharpeneth  the  countenance 
of  his  friend.'  How  did  you  leave  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marshman  ?  and 
has  Mr.  George  returned  yet?" 

Drawing  their  chairs  together,  a  close  conversation  began.  Ellen 
had  been  painfully  interested  and  surprised  by  what  went  before, 
but  the  low  tone  of  voice  now  seemed  to  be  not  meant  for  her  ear, 
and  turning  away  her  attention,  she  amused  herself  with  taking  a 
general  survey. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  Mrs.  Vawse  lived  in  this  room,  and  prob 
ably  had  no  other  to  live  in.  Her  bed  was  in  one  corner ;  cup- 


190  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

boards  filled  the  deep  recesses  on  each  side  of  the  chimney,  and  in 
the  wide  fireplace  the  crane  .and  the  hooks  and  trammels  hanging 
upon  it  showed  that  the  bedroom  and  sitting-room  was  the  kitchen 
too.  Most  of  the  floor  was  covered  with  a  thick  rag  carpet ;  where 
the  boards  could  be  seen  they  were  beautifully  clean  and  white, 
and  every  thing  else  in  the  room  in  this  respect  matched  with  the 
boards.  The  panes  of  glass  in  the  little  windows  were  clean  and 
bright  as  panes  of  glass  could  be  made  ;  the  hearth  was  clean  swept 
up ;  the  cupboard  doors  were  unstained  and  unsoiled,  though 
fingers  had  worn  the  paint  off;  dust  was  nowhere.  On  a  little 
stand  by  the  chimney  corner  lay  a  large  Bible  and  another  book ; 
close  beside  stood  a  cushioned  arm  chair.  Some  other  apartment 
there  probably  was  where  wood  and  stores  were  kept ;  nothing  was 
to  be  seen  here  that  did  not  agree  with  a  very  comfortable  face  of 
the  whole.  It  looked  as  if  one  might  be  happy  there ;  it  looked 
as  if  somebody  was  happy  there  ;  and  a  glance  at  the  old  lady  of 
the  house  would  not  alter  the  opinion.  Many  a  glance  Ellen  gave 
her  as  she  sat  talking  with  Alice ;  and  with  every  one  she  felt  more 
and  more  drawn  toward  her.  She  was  somewhat  under  the  com 
mon  size  and  rather  stout ;  her  countenance  most  agreeable ;  there 
was  sense,  character,  sweetness  in  it.  Some  wrinkles  no  doubt  were 
there  too ;  lines  deep-marked  that  spoke  of  sorrows  once  known. 
Those  storms  had  all  passed  away ;  the  last  shadow  of  a  cloud  had 
departed  ;  her  evening  sun  was  shining  clear  and  bright  toward  the 
setting ;  and  her  brow  was  beautifully  placid,  not  as  though  it 
never  had  been,  but  as  if  it  never  could  be  ruined  again.  Respect 
no  one  could  help  feeling  for  her ;  and  more  than  respect  one  felt 
would  grow  with  acquaintance.  Her  dress  was  very  odd,  Ellen 
thought.  It  was  not  American,  and  what  it  was  she  did  not  know, 
but  supposed  Mrs.  Vawse  must  have  a  lingering  fancy  for  the  cos 
tume  as  well  as  for  the  roofs  of  her  fatherland.  More  than  all  her 
eye  turned  again  and  again  to  the  face,  which  seemed  to  her  in  its 
changing  expression  winning  and  pleasant  exceedingly.  The  mouth 
had  not  forgotten  to  smile,  nor  the  eye  to  laugh ;  and  though  this 
was  not  often  seen,  the  constant  play  of  feature  showed  a  deep  and 
lively  sympathy  in  all  Alice  was  saying,  and  held  Ellen's  charmed 
gaze;  arid  when  the  old  lady's  looks  and  words  were  at  length 
turned  to  herself  she  blushed  to  think  how  long  she  had  been  look 
ing  steadily  at  a  stranger. 

"  Little  Miss  Ellen,  how  do  you  like  my  house  on  the  rock 
here?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen;  "  I  like  it  very  much,  only 
I  don't  think  I  should  like  it  so  well  in  winter." 

"  I  am  not  certain  that  I  don't  like  it  then   best  of  all.     Why 
would  you  not  like  it  in  winter?" 

"  I  shouldn't  like  the  cold,  ma'am,  and  to  be  alone." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


191 


"  I  like  to  be  alone,  but  cold  ?  I  am  in  no  danger  of  freezing, 
Miss  Ellen.  I  make  myself  very  warm — keep  good  fires, — and 
my  house  is  too  strong  for  the  wind  to  blow  it  away.  Don't  you 
want  to  go  out  and  see  my  cow  ?  I  have  one  of  the  best  cows  that 
ever  you  saw ;  her  name  is  Snow ;  there  is  not  a  black  hair  upon 
her;  she  is  all  white.  Come,  Miss  Alice;  Mr.  Marshman  sent 
her  to  me  a  month  ago;  she's  a  great  treasure  and  worth  look 
ing  at," 

They  went  across  the  yard  to  the  tiny  barn  or  outhouse,  where 
they  found  Snow  nicely  cared  for.  She  was  in  a  warm  stable,  a 
nice  bedding  of  straw  upon  the  floor,  and  plenty  of  hay  laid  up  for 
her.  Snow  deserved  it,  for  she  was  a  beauty,  and  a  very  well-be 
haved  cow,  letting  Alice  and  Ellen  stroke  her  and  pat  her  and  feel 
of  her  thick  hide,  with  the  most  perfect  placidity.  Mrs.  Vawse 
meanwhile  went  to  the  door  to  look  out. 

"  Nancy  ought  to  be  home  to  milk  her,"  she  said  ;  "  I  must  give 
you  supper  and  send  you  off.  I've  no  feeling  nor  smell  if  snow 
isn't  thick  in  the  air  somewhere  ;  we  shall  see  it  here  soon." 

"  I'll  milk  her,"  said  Alice. 

"  I'll  milk  her  !"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I'll  milk  her  !  Ah,  do  let  me  ; 
I  know  how  to  milk ;  Mr.  Van  Brunt  taught  me,  and  I  have  done 
it  several  times.  May  I  ?  I  should  like  it  dearly." 

"  You  shall  do  it  surely,  my  child,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse.  "  Come 
with  me,  and  I'll  give  you  the  pail  and  the  milking  stool." 

When  Alice  and  Ellen  came  in  with  the  milk  they  found  the 
kettle  on,  the  little  table  set,  and  Mrs.  Vawse  very  busy  at  another 
table. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Mrs.  Vawse,  may  I  ask  ?"   said  Alice. 

"  I'm  just  stirring  up  some  Indian  meal  for  you  ;  I  find  I  have 
not  but  a  crust  left.' ' 

"  Please  to  put  that  away,  ma'am,  for  another  time.  Do  you 
think  I  didn't  know  better  than  to  come  up  to  this  mountain-top 
without  bringing  along  something  to  live  upon  while  I  am  here  ? 
Here's  a  basket,  ma'am,  and  in  it  are  divers  things;  I  believe 
Margery  and  I  between  us  have  packed  up  enough  for  two  or  three 
suppers;  to  say  nothing  of  Miss  Fortune's  pie.  There  it  is — sure 
to  be  good,  you  know ;  and  here  are  some  of  my  cakes  that  you 
like  so  much,  Mrs.  Vawse,"  said  Alice,  as  she  went  on  pulling  the 
things  out  of  the  basket, — "  there  is  a  bowl  of  butter — that's  not 
wanted,  I  see — and  here  is  a  loaf  of  bread  ;  and  that's  all.  Ellen, 
my  dear,  this  basket  will  be  lighter  to  carry  down  than  it  was  to 
bring  up." 

"  I  am-  glad  of  it,  I  am  sure,"  said  Ellen  ;  "my  arm  hasn't  done 
aching  yet,  though  I  had  it  so  little  while." 

"Ah,  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  kettle  singing,"  said  their  hostess. 
"I  can  give  you  good  tea,  Miss  Alice;  you'll  think  so,  I  know, 


192  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

for  it's  the  same  Mr.  John  sent  me.  It  is  very  fine  tea ;  and  he 
sent  me  a  noble  supply,  like  himself,"  continued  Mrs.  Vawse, 
taking  some  out  of  her  little  caddy.  "  I  ought  not  to  say  I  have 
no  friends  left ;  I  cannot  eat  a  meal  that  I  am  not  reminded  of  two 
good  ones.  Mr.  John  knew  one  of  my  weak  points  when  he  sent 
me  that  box  of  Souchong." 

The  supper  was  ready,  and  the  little  party  gathered  round  the 
table.  The  tea  did  credit  to  the  judgment  of  the  giver  and  the 
skill  of  the  maker,  but  they  were  no  critics  that  drank  it.  Alice 
and  Ellen  were  much  too  hungry  and  too  happy  to  be  particular. 
Miss  Fortune's  pumpkin  pie  was  declared  to  be  very  fine,  and  so 
were  Mrs.  Vawse' s  cheese  and  butter.  Eating  and  talking  went 
on  with  great  spirit,  their  old  friend  seeming  scarce  less  pleased  or 
less  lively  than  themselves.  Alice  proposed  the  French  plan,  and 
Mrs.  Vawse  entered  into  it  very  frankly  ;  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
the  style  of  building  and  of  dress  to  which  she  had  been  accus 
tomed  in  early  life  were  not  the  only  things  remembered  kindly  for 
old  time's  sake.  It  was  settled  they  should  meet  as  frequently  as 
might  be,  either  here  or  at  the  parsonage,  and  become  good  French 
women  with  all  convenient  speed. 

"  Will  you  wish  to  walk  so  far  to  see  me  again,  little  Miss 
Ellen?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am  !" 

"  You  won't  fear  the  deep  snow,  and  the  wind  and  cold,  and  the 
steep  hill?" 

"Oh,  no,  ma'am,  I  won't  mind  them  a  bit;  but,  ma'am,  Miss 
Alice  told  me  to  ask  you  why  you  loved  better  to  live  up  here  than 
down  where  it  is  warmer.  I  shouldn't  ask  if  she  hadn't  said  I 
might." 

11  Ellen  has  a  great  fancy  for  getting  at  the  reason  of  every  thing, 
Mrs.  Vawse,"  said  Alice,  smiling. 

"  You  wonder  any  body  should  choose  it,  don't  you,  Miss  Ellen  ?" 
said  the  old  lady. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  a  little." 

"I'll  tell  you  the  reason,  my  child.  It  is  for  the  love  of  my 
old  home  and  the  memory  of  my  young  days.  Till  I  was  as  old 
as  you  are,  and  a  little  older,  I  lived  among  the  mountains  and 
upon  them  ;  and  after  that,  for  many  a  year,  they  were  just 
before  my  eyes  every  day,  stretching  away  for  more  than  one 
hundred  miles,  and  piled  up  one  above  another,  fifty  times  as  big 
as  any  you  ever  saw;  these  are  only  molehills  to  them.  I  loved 
them — oh,  how  I  love  them  still !  If  I  have  one  unsatisfied  wish," 
said  the  old  lady,  turning  to  Alice,  "it  is  to  see  my  Alps  again; 
but  that  will  never  be.  Now,  Miss  Ellen,  it  is  not  that  I  fancy, 
when  I  get  to  the  top  of  this  hill  that  I  am  among  my  own  moun 
tains,  but  I  can  breathe  better  here  than  down  in  the  plain.  I 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  193 

feel  more  free ;  and  in  the  village  I  would  not  live  for  gold,  un 
less  that  duty  bade  me." 

"  But  all  alone  so  far  from  everybody,"  said  Ellen. 

"I  am  never  lonely;  and  old  as  I  am  I  don't  mind  a  long 
walk  or  a  rough  road  any  more  than  your  young  feet  do." 

"  But  isn't  it  very  cold?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  cold  ; — what  of  that  ?  I  make  a  good  blazing 
fire,  and  then  I  like  to  hear  the  wind  whistle." 

"  Yes,  but  you  wouldn't  like  to  have  it  whistling  inside  as  well 
as  out,"  said  Alice.  "  I  will  come  and  do  the  listing  and  caulking 
for  you  in  a  day  or  two.  Oh,  you  have  it  done  without  me  !  I 
am  sorry." 

"  No  need  to  be  sorry,  dear — I  am  glad  ;  you  don't  look  fit  for 
any  troublesome  jobs." 

"lam  fit  enough,"  said  Alice.  "Don't  put  up  the  curtains; 
I'll  come  and  do  it." 

"You  must  come  with  a  stronger  face,  then,"  said  her  old 
friend;  "have  you  wearied  yourself  with  walking  all  this  way?" 

"  I  was  a  little  weary,"  said  Alice,  "  but  your  nice  tea  has  made 
me  up  again." 

"  I  wish  I  could  keep  you  all  night,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse,  looking 
out,  "  but  your  father  would  be  uneasy.  I  am  afraid  the  storm 
will  catch  you  before  you  get  home;  and  you  aren't  fit  to  breast 
it.  Little  Ellen  too  don't  look  as  if  she  was  made  of  iron.  Can't 
you  stay  with  me  ?" 

"  I  must  not — it  wouldn't  do,"  said  Alice,  who  was  hastily  put 
ting  on  her  things;  "we'll  soon  run  down  the  hill.  But  we  are 
leaving  you  alone  ; — where's  Nancy?" 

"She'll  not  come  if  there's  a  promise  of  a  storm,"  said  Mrs. 
Vawse  ;  "  she  often  stays  out  all  night." 

"  And  leaves  you  alone  !" 

"  I  am  never  alone,"  said  the  old  lady  quietly  ;  "I  have  nothing 
to  fear ;  but  I  am  uneasy  about  you,  dear.  Mind  my  words ; 
don't  try  to  go  back  the  way  you  came ;  take  the  other  road  ;  it's 
easier;  and  stop  when  you  get  to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's;  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  will  take  you  the  rest  of  the  way  in  his  little  wagon." 

"Do  you  think  it  is  needful  ?"  said  Alice  doubtfully. 

"I  am  sure  it  is  best.     Hasten  down.     Adieu,  mon  enfant." 

They  kissed  and  embraced  her  and  hurried  out. 


17 


194  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

November  chill  blaws  loud  wi'  angry  sough ; 
The  shortening  winter  day  is  near  a  close. 

BURNS. 

THE  clouds  hung  thick  and  low;  the  wind  was  less  than  it  had 
been.  They  took  the  path  Mrs.  Vawse  had  spoken  of;  it  was 
broader  and  easier  than  the  other,  winding  more  gently  down  the 
mountain ;  it  was  sometimes,  indeed,  travelled  by  horses,  though 
far  too  steep  for  any  kind  of  carriage.  Alice  and  Ellen  ran  along 
without  giving  much  heed  to  any  thing  but  their  footing, — down, 
down, — running  and  bounding,  hand  in  hand,  till  want  of  breath 
obliged  them  to  slacken  their  pace. 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  snow  ? — soon  ?"  asked  Ellen. 

"  I  think  it  will  snow, — how  soon  I  cannot  tell.  Have  you  had 
a  pleasant  afternoon  ?" 

"Oh,  very!" 

"  I  always  have  when  I  go  there.  Now,  Ellen,  there  is  an  ex 
ample  of  contentment  for  you.  If  ever  a  woman  loved  husband 
and  children  and  friends  Mrs.  Vawse  loved  hers ;  I  know  this 
from  those  who  knew  her  long  ago  ;  and  now  look  at  her.  Of 
them  all  she  has  none  left  but  the  orphan  daughter  of  her 
youngest  son,  and  you  know  a  little  what  sort  of  a  child  that  is." 

"She  must  be  a  very  bad  girl,"  said  Ellen  ;  "you  can't  think 
what  stories  she  told  me  about  her  grandmother." 

"Poor  Nancy!"  said  Alice.  "Mrs.  Vawse  has  no  money  nor 
property  of  any  kind,  except  what  is  in  her  house ;  but  there  is 
not  a  more  independent  woman  breathing.  She  does  all  sorts  of 
things  to  support  herself.  Now,  for  instance,  Ellen,  if  any  body 
is  sick  within  ten  miles  round,  the  family  are  too  happy  to  get 
Mrs.  Vawse  for  a  nurse.  She  is  an  admirable  one.  Then  she 
goes  out  tailoring  at  the  farmers'  houses ;  she  brings  home  wool 
and  returns  it  spun  into  yarn  ;  she  brings  home  yarn  and  knits  it 
up  into  stockings  and  socks;  all  sorts  of  odd  jobs.  I  have  seen 
her  picking  hops ;  she  isn't  above  doing  any  thing,  and  yet  she 
never  forgets  her  own  dignity.  I  think  wherever  she  goes  and 
whatever  she  is  about,  she  is  at  all  times  one  of  the  most  truly 
lady-like  persons  I  have  ever  seen.  And  every  body  respects  her; 
every  body  likes  to  gain  her  good-will ;  she  is  known  all  over  the 
country  ;  and  all  the  country  are  her  friends." 

"  They  pay  her  for  doing  these  things,  don't  they?" 

"  Certainly ;    not  often  in  money ;  more   commonly  in  various 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  195 

kinds  of  matters  that  she  wants, — flour,  and  sugar,  and  Indian 
meal,  and  pork,  and  ham,  and  vegetables,  and  wool, — any  thing ; 
it  is  but  a  little  of  each  that  she  wants.  She  has  friends  that 
would  not  permit  her  to  earn  another  sixpence  if  they  could  help 
it,  but  she  likes  better  to  live  as  she  does.  And  she  is  always  as 
you  saw  her  to-day — cheerful  and  happy,  as  a  little  girl." 

Ellen  was  turning  over  Alice's  last  words  and  thinking  that 
little  girls  were  not  always  the  cheerfullest  and  happiest  creatures 
in  the  world,  when  Alice  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  It  is  snowing ! 
Come,  Ellen,  we  must  make  haste  now  !" — and  set  off  at  a  quick 
ened  pace.  Quick  as  they  might,  they  had  gone  not  a  hundred 
yards  when  the  whole  air  was  filled  with  the  falling  flakes,  and  the 
wind  which  had  lulled  for  a  little  now  rose  with  greater  violence 
and  swept  round  the  mountain  furiously.  The  storm  had  come  in 
good  earnest  and  promised  to  be  no  trifling  one.  Alice  and  Ellen 
ran  on,  holding  each  other's  hands  and  strengthening  themselves 
against  the  blast,  but  their  journey  became  every  moment  more 
difficult.  The  air  was  dark  with  the  thick-falling  snow  ;  the  wind 
seemed  to  blow  in  every  direction  by  turns,  but  chiefly  against 
them,  blinding  their  eyes  with  the  snow  and  making  it  necessary 
to  use  no  small  effort  to  keep  on  their  way.  Ellen  hardly  knew 
where  she  went,  but  allowed  herself  to  be  pulled  along  by  Alice, 
or  as  well  pulled  her  along ;  it  was  hard  to  say  which  hurried 
most.  In  the  midst  of  this  dashing  on  down  the  hill  Alice  all  at 
once  came  to  a  sudden  stop. 

"Where's  the  Captain?"  said. she. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen,— "  I  haven't  thought  of  him 
since  we  left  Mrs.  Vawse's." 

Alice  turned  her  back  to  the  wind  and  looked  up  the  road  they 
had  come, — there  was  nothing  but  wind  and  snow  there ;  how 
furiously  it  blew  !  Alice  called,  "  Pussy  ! — " 

"  Shall  we  walk  up  the  road  a  little  way,  or  shall  we  stand  and 
wait  for  him  here  ?"  said  Ellen,  trembling  half  from  exertion  and 
half  from  a  vague  fear  of  she  knew  not  what. 

Alice  called  again ; — no  answer,  but  a  wild  gust  of  wind  and 
snow  that  drove  past. 

"  I  can't  go  on  and  leave  him,"  said  Alice  ;  "  he  might  perish 
in  the  storm."  And  she  began  to  walk  slowly  back,  calling  at 
intervals,  "  Pussy  ! — kitty  ! — pussy  !" — and  listening  for  an  answer 
that  came  not.  Ellen  was  very  unwilling  to  tarry,  and  nowise 
inclined  to  prolong  their  journey  by  going  backwards  !  She 
thought  the  storm  grew  darker  and  wilder  every  moment. 

"Perhaps  Captain  staid  up  at  Mrs.  Vawse's,"  she  said,  "and 
didn't  follow  us  down." 

"  No,"  said  Alice, — "  I  am  sure  he  did.  Hark  ! — wasn't  that 
he?" 


196  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  don't  hear  any  thing,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  pause  of  anxious 
listening. 

Alice  went  a  few  steps  further. 

"I  hear  him!"  she  said; — "I  hear  him!  poor  kitty!" — and 
she  set  off  at  a  quick  pace  up  the  hill.  Ellen  followed,  but  pres 
ently  a  burst  of  wind  and  snow  brought  them  both  to  a  stand. 
Alice  faltered  a  little  at  this,  in  doubt  whether  to  go  up  or  down. 
But  then  to  their  great  joy  Captain's  far-off  cry  was  heard,  and 
both  Alice  and  Ellen  strained  their  voices  to  cheer  and  direct  him. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  came  in  sight,  trotting  hurriedly  along 
through  the  snow,  and  on  reaching  his  mistress  he  sat  down  imme 
diately  on  the  ground  without  offering  any  caress ;  a  sure  sign 
that  he  was  tired.  Alice  stooped  down  and  took  him  up  in  her 
arms. 

"  Poor  kitty  !"  she  said,  "you've  done  your  part  for  to-day,  I 
think  j  I'll  do  the  rest.  Ellen,  dear,  it's  of  no  use  to  tire  ourselves 
out  at  once  ;  we  will  go  moderately.  Keep  hold  of  my  cloak,  my 
child  ;  it  takes  both  of  my  arms  to  hold  this  big  cat.  Now,  never 
mind  the  snow  ;  we  can  bear  being  blown  about  a  little ;  are  you 
very  tired?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "not  very; — I  am  a  little  tired;  but  I 
don't  care  for  that  if  we  can  only  get  home  safe." 

"  There's  no  difficulty  about  that  I  hope.  Nay,  there  may  be 
some  difficulty,  but  we  shall  get  there  I  think  in  good  safety  after 
a  while.  I  wish  we  were  there  now,  for  your  sake,  my  child." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me,"  said  Ellen  gratefully  ;  "I  am  sorry  for 
you,  Miss  Alice ;  you  have  the  hardest  time  of  it  with  that  heavy 
load  to  carry ;  I  wish  I  could  help  you." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,  but  nobody  could  do  that ;  I  doubt  if 
Captain  would  lie  in  any  arms  but  mine." 

"  Let  me  carry  the  basket  then,"  said  Ellen, — "  do,  Miss  Alice." 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  hangs  very  well  on  my  arm.  Take  it  gently  ; 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  isn't  very  far  off;  we  shall  feel  the  wind  less 
when  we  turn." 

But  the  road  seemed  long.  The  storm  did  not  increase  in 
violence,  truly  there  was  no  need  of  that,  but  the  looked-for  turn 
ing  was  not  soon  found,  and  the  gathering  darkness  warned  them 
day  was  drawing  toward  a  close.  As  they  neared  the  bottom  of 
the  hill  Alice  made  a  pause. 

"There's  a  path  that  turns  off  from  this  and  makes  a  shorter 
cut  to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's,  but  it  must  be  above  here;  I  must  have 
missed  it,  though  I  have  been  on  the  watch  constantly." 

She  looked  up  and  down.  It  would  have  been  a  sharp  eye 
indeed  that  had  detected  any  slight  opening  in  the  woods  on  either 
side  of  the  path,  which  the  driving  snow-storm  blended  into  one 
continuous  wall  of  trees.  They  could  be  seen  stretching  darkly 


In  a  few  minutes  he  came  in  sight." 


Page  196. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  197 

before  and  behind  them  ;  but  more  than  that, — where  they  stood 
near  together  and  where  scattered  apart, — was  all  confusion, 
through  that  fast-falling  shower  of  flakes. 

II  Shall  we  go  back  and  look  for  the  path  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  I  am  afraid  we  shouldn't  find  it  if  we  did,"  said  Alice  ;  "  we 
should  only  lose  our  time,  and  we  have  none  to  lose.  I  think  we 
had  better  go  straight  forward." 

"  Is  it  much  further  this  way  than  the  other  path  we  have 
missed?" 

"  A  good  deal — all  of  half-a-mile.  I  am  sorry  ;  but  courage, 
my  child !  we  shall  know  better  than  to  go  out  in  snowy  weather 
next  time, — on  long  expeditions  at  least." 

They  had  to  shout  to  make  each  other  hear,  so  drove  the  snow 
and  wind  through  the  trees  and  into  their  very  faces  and  ears. 
They  plodded  on.  It  was  plodding ;  the  snow  lay  thick  enough 
now  to  make  their  footing  uneasy,  and  grew  deeper  every  moment ; 
their  shoes  were  full ;  their  feet  and  ankles  were  wet ;  and  their 
steps  began  to  drag  heavily  over  the  ground.  Ellen  clung  as 
close  to  Alice's  cloak  as  their  hurried  travelling  would  permit; 
sometimes  one  of  Alice's  hands  was  loosened  for  a  moment  to  be 
passed  round  Ellen's  shoulders,  and  a  word  of  courage  or  comfort 
in  the  clear  calm  tone  cheered  her  to  renewed  exertion.  The 
night  fell  fast ;  it  was  veiy  darkling  by  the  time  they  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  and  the  road  did  not  yet  allow  them  to  turn 
their  faces  toward  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's.  A  wearisome  piece  of  the 
way  this  was,  leading  them  from  the  place  they  wished  to  reach. 
They  could  not  go  fast  either ;  they  were  too  weary  and  the 
walking  too  heavy.  Captain  had  the  best  of  it ;  snug  and  quiet 
he  lay  wrapped  in  Alice's  cloak  and  fast  asleep,  little  wotting  how 
tired  his  mistress's  arms  were. 

The  path  at  length  brought  them  to  the  long-desired  turning  ; 
but  it  was  by  this  time  so  dark  that  the  fences  on  each  side  of  the 
road  showed  but  dimly.  They  had  not  spoken  for  a  while ;  as 
they  turned  the  corner  a  sigh  of  mingled  weariness  and  satisfaction 
escaped  from  Ellen's  lips.  It  reached  Alice's  ear. 

"  What's  the  matter,  love  ?' '  said  the  sweet  voice.  No  trace  of 
weariness  was  allowed  to  come  into  it. 

II 1  am  so  glad  we  have  got  here  at  last,"  said  Ellen,  looking  up 
with  another  sigh,  and  removing  her  hand  for  an  instant  from  its 
grasp  on  the  cloak  to  Alice's  arm. 

"  My  poor  child !  I  wish  I  could  carry  you  too.  Can  you  hold 
on  a  little  longer?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  Miss  Alice  ;  I  can  hold  on." 

But  Ellen's  voice  was  not  so  well  guarded.  It  was  like  her  steps, 
a  little  unsteady.  She  presently  spoke  again. 

"  Miss  Alice are  you  afraid?" 

17* 


198  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  your  getting  sick,  my  child,  and  a  little  afraid 
of  it  for  myself; — of  nothing  else.  What  is  there  to  be  afraid 
of?" 

"  It  is  very  dark,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  and  the  storm  is  so  thick, — do 
you  think  you  can  find  the  way?" 

"  I  know  it  perfectly ;  it  is  nothing  but  to  keep  straight  on  ;  and 
the  fences  would  prevent  us  from  getting  out  of  the  road.  It  is 
hard  walking  I  know,  but  we  shall  get  there  by  and  by ;  bear  up 
as  well  as  you  can,  dear.  I  am  sorry  I  can  give  you  no  help  but 
words.  Don't  you  think  a  nice  bright  fire  will  look  comfortable 
after  all  this?"' 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  !"  answered  Ellen,  rather  sadly. 

"  Are  you  afraid,  Ellen  ?" 

"No,  Miss  Alice — not  much — I  don't  like  its  being  so  dark,  I 
can't  see  where  I  am  going." 

"  The  darkness  makes  our  way  longer  and  more  tedious  ;  it  will 
do  us  no  other  harm,  love.  I  wish  I  had  a  hand  to  give  you,  but 
this  great  cat  must  have  both  of  mine.  The  darkness  and  the  light 
are  both  alike  to  our  Father ;  we  are  in  his  hands  ;  we  are  safe 
enough,  dear  Ellen." 

Ellen's  hand  left  the  cloak  again  for  an  instant  to  press  Alice's 
arm  in  answer ;  her  voice  failed  at  the  minute.  Then  clinging 
anew  as  close  to  her  side  as  she  could  get,  they  toiled  patiently  on. 
The  wind  had  somewhat  lessened  of  its  violence,  and  besides  it 
blew  not  now  in  their  faces,  but  against  their  backs,  helping  them 
on.  Still  the  snow  continued  to  fall  very  fast,  and  already  lay  thick 
upon  the  ground  ;  every  half  hour  increased  the  heaviness  and 
painfulness  of  their  march ;  and  darkness  gathered  till  the  very 
fences  could  no  longer  be  seen.  It  was  pitch  dark ;  to  hold  the 
middle  of  the  road  was  impossible ;  their  only  way  was  to  keep 
along  by  one  of  the  fences ;  and  for  fear  of  hurting  themselves 
against  some  outstanding  post  or  stone  it  was  necessary  to  travel 
quite  gently.  They  were  indeed  in  no  condition  to  travel  otherwise 
if  light  had  not  been  wanting.  Slowly  and  patiently,  with  painful 
care  groping  their  way,  they  pushed  on  through  the  snow  and  the 
thick  night.  Alice  could  feel  the  earnestness  of  Ellen's  grasp  upon 
her  clothes ;  and  her  close  pressing  up  to  her  made  their  progress 
still  slower  and  more  difficult  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been. 

"  Miss  Alice," — said  Ellen. 

"What,  my  child?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  speak  to  me  once  in  a  while." 

Alice  freed  one  of  her  hands  and  took  hold  of  Ellen's. 

"  I  have  been  so  busy  picking  my  way  along,  I  have  neglected 
you,  haven't  I?" 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am.  But  I  like  to  hear  the  sound  of  your  voice 
sometimes,  it  makes  me  feel  better." 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  199 

"  This  is  an  odd  kind  of  travelling,  isn't  it?"  said  Alice  cheer 
fully  ; — "  in  the  dark,  and  feeling  our  way  along  ?  This  will  be 
quite  an  adventure  to  talk  about,  won't  it?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Ellen. 

"It  is  easier  going  this  way,  don't  you  find  it  so?  The  wind 
helps  us  forward." 

"It  helps  me  too  much,"  said  Ellen;  "  I  wish  it  wouldn't  be 
quite  so  very  kind.  Why,  Miss  Alice,  I  have  enough  to  do  to 
hold  myself  together  sometimes.  It  almost  makes  me  run,  though 
I  am  so  very  tired." 

"  Well,  it  is  better  than  having  it  in  our  faces  at  any  rate.  Tired 
you  are,  I  know,  and  must  be.  We  shall  want  to  rest  all  day  to 
morrow,  shan't  we?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !"  said  Ellen  sighing  ;  "  I  shall  be  glad  when 
we  begin.  How  long  do  you  think  it  will  be,  Miss  Alice,  before 
we  get  to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's?" 

"  My  dear  child  I  cannot  tell  you.  I  have  not  the  least  notion 
whereabouts  we  are.  I  can  see  no  waymarks,  and  I  cannot  judge 
at  all  of  the  rate  at  which  we  have  come." 

"  But  what  if  we  should  have  passed  it  in  this  darkness?"  said 
Ellen. 

"  No,  I  don't  think  that,"  said  Alice,  though  a  cold  doubt  struck 
her  mind  at  Ellen's  words  ; — "  I  think  we  shall  see  the  glimmer  of 
Mis.  Van  Brunt's  friendly  candle  by  and  by." 

But  more  uneasily  and  more  keenly  now  she  strove  to  see  that 
glimmer  through  the  darkness ;  strove  till  the  darkness  seemed  to 
press  painfully  upon  her  eyeballs,  and  she  almost  doubted  her  being 
able  to  see  any  light  if  light  there  were ;  it  was  all  blank  thick 
darkness  still.  She  began  to  question  anxiously  with  herself  which 
side  of  the  house  was  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  ordinary  sitting-room  ; — 
whether  she  should  see  the  light  from  it  before  or  after  passing  the 
house  ;  and  now  her  glance  was  directed  often  behind  her,  that  they 
might  be  sure  in  any  case  of  not  missing  their  desired  haven „  In 
vain  she  looked  forward  or  back  ;  it  was  all  one  ;  no  cheering  glim 
mer  of  lamp  or  candle  greeted  her  straining  eyes.  Hurriedly  now 
from  time  to  time  the  comforting  words  were  spoken  to  Ellen,  for 
to  pursue  the  long  stretch  of  way  that  led  onward  from  Mr.  Van 
Brunt's  to  Miss  Fortune's  would  be  a  very  serious  matter;  Alice 
wanted  comfort  herself. 

"  Shall  we  get  there  soon,  do  you  think,  Miss  Alice?"  said  poor 
Ellen,  whose  wearied  feet  carried  her  painfully  over  the  deepening 
snow.  The  tone  of  voice  went  to  Alice's  heart. 

"I  don't  know,  my  darling, — I  hope  so,"  she  answered,  but  it 
was  spoken  rather  patiently  than  cheerfully.  "  Fear  nothing,  dear 
Ellen ;  remember  who  has  the  care  of  us ;  darkness  and  light  are 
both  alike  to  him ;  nothing  will  do  us  any  real  harm." 


200  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  How  tired  you  must  be,  dear  Miss  Alice,  carrying  pussy !" 
Ellen  said  with  a  sigh. 

For  the  first  time  Alice  echoed  the  sigh  ;  but  almost  immediately 
Ellen  exclaimed  in  a  totally  different  tone,  "  There's  a  light ! — but 
it  isn't  a  candle — it  is  moving  about ; — what  is  it?  what  is  it,  Miss 
Alice?" 

They  stopped  and  looked.  A  light  there  certainly  was,  dimly 
seen,  moving  at  some  little  distance  from  the  fence  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road.  All  of  a  sudden  it  disappeared. 

"  What  is  it  ?"   whispered  Ellen  fearfully. 

"  I  don't  know,  my  love,  yet;  wait — " 

They  waited  several  minutes. 

"  What  could  it  be?"  said  Ellen.  "  It  was  certainly  a  light, — 
I  saw  it  as  plainly  as  ever  I  saw  any  thing  ; — what  can  it  have  done 
with  itself — there  it  is  again  ! — going  the  other  way  !" 

Alice  waited  no  longer,  but  screamed  out,  "  Who's  there?" 

But  the  light  paid  no  attention  to  her  cry ;  it  travelled  on. 

u  Halloo  !"   called  Alice  again  as  loud  as  she  could. 

"Halloo!"  answered  a  rough  deep  voice.  The  light  suddenly 
stopped. 

"That's  he!  that's  he!"  exclaimed  Ellen  in  an  ecstasy  and  al 
most  dancing. — "I  know  it, — it's  Mr.  Van  Brunt!  it's  Mr.  Van 
Brunt !— oh,  Miss  Alice  ! " 

Struggling  between  crying  and  laughing  Ellen  could  not  stand 
it,  but  gave  way  to  a  good  fit  of  crying.  Alice  felt  the  infection, 
but  controlled  herself,  though  her  eyes  watered  as  her  heart  sent  up 
its  grateful  tribute  ;  as  well  as  she  could  she  answered  the  halloo. 

The  light  was  seen  advancing  toward  them.  Presently  it  glim 
mered  faintly  behind  the  fence,  showing  a  bit  of  the  dark  rails 
covered  with  snow,  and  they  could  dimly  see  the  figure  of  a  man 
getting  over  them.  He  crossed  the  road  to  where  they  stood.  It 
was  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Alice's  sweet 
voice  ;  but  it  trembled  a  little. 

That  gentleman,  at  first  dumb  with  astonishment,  lifted  his 
lantern  to  survey  them,  and  assure  his  eyes  that  his  ears  had  not 
been  mistaken. 

"  Miss  Alice  ! — My  goodness  alive  ! — How  in  the  name  of  wonder ! 
— And  my  poor  little  lamb  ! — But  what  on  'arth,  ma'am  !  you  must 
be  half  dead.  Come  this  way, — just  come  back  a  little  bit, — why, 
where  were  you  going,  ma'am  ?" 

"  To  your  house.  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  I  have  been  looking  for  it  with 
no  little  anxiety,  I  assure  you." 

"  Looking  for  it !  Why  how  on  'arth  !  you  wouldn't  see  the 
biggest  house  ever  was  built  half  a  yard  off  such  a  plaguy  night  as 
this." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  201 

"  I  thought  I  should  see  the  light  from  the  windows,  Mr.  Van 
Brunt." 

"  The  light  from  the  windows  !  Bless  my  soul !  the  storm  rattled 
so  again'  the  windows  that  mother  made  me  pull  the  great  shutters  to. 
I  won't  have  'em  shut  again  of  a  stormy  night,  that's  a  fact ;  you'd 
ha'  gone  far  enough  afore  you'd  ha'  seen  the  light  through  them 
shutters." 

"Then  we  had  passed  the  house  already,  hadn't  we?" 

"Indeed  had  you,  ma'am.  I  guess  you  saw  my  light,  ha' n't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  and  glad  enough  we  were  to  see  it,  too." 

"I  suppose  so.  It  happened  so  to-night — now  that  is  a  queer 
thing — I  minded  that  I  hadn't  untied  my  horse;  he's  a  trick  of 
being  untied  at  night,  and  won't  sleep  well  if  he  ain't ;  and  mother 
wanted  me  to  let  him  alone  'cause  of -the  awful  storm,  but  I  couldn't 
go  to  my  bed  in  peace  till  I  had  seen  him  to  his'n.  So  that's  how 
my  lantern  came  to  be  going  to  the  barn  in  such  an  awk'ard  night 
as  this." 

They  had  reached  the  little  gate,  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with  some 
difficulty  pulled  it  open.  The  snow  lay  thick  upon  the  neat  brick 
walk  which  Ellen  had  trod  the  first  time  with  wet  feet  and  dripping 
garments.  A  few  steps  further,  and  they  came  to  the  same  door 
that  had  opened  then  so  hospitably  to  receive  her.  As  the  faint 
light  of  the  lantern  was  thrown  upon  the  old  latch  and  door-posts, 
Ellen  felt  at  home,  and  a  sense  of  comfort  sank  down  into  her  heart 
which  she  had  not  known  for  some  time. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

True  is,  that  whilome  that  good  poet  said, 
The  gentle  minde  by  gentle  deeds  is  knowne: 
For  a  man  by  nothing  is  so  well  bewrayed 
As  by  his  manners,  in  which  plaine  is  showne 
Of  what  degree  and  what  race  he  is  grpwne. 

FAERIE  QUEENE. 

MR.  VAN  BRUNT  flung  open  the  door  and  the  two  wet  and 
weary  travellers  stepped  after  him  into  the  same  cheerful,  comfort 
able-looking  kitchen  that  had  received  Ellen  once  before.  Just 
the  same,  tidy,  clean  swept  up,  a  good  fire,  and  the  same  old  red- 
backed  chairs  standing  round  on  the  hearth  in  most  cosey  fashion. 
It  seemed  to  Ellen  a  perfect  storehouse  of  comfort ;  the  very  walls 
had  a  kind  face  for  her.  There  were  no  other  faces  however ;  the 
chairs  were  all  empty.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  put  Alice  in  one  and  Ellen 


202  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

in  another,  and  shouted,  "Mother! — here!" — muttering  that  she 
had  taken  herself  off  with  the  light  somewhere.  Not  very  far; 
for  in  half  a  minute  answering  the  call  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  and  the 
light  came  hurriedly  in. 

"What's  the  matter,  'Brahm? — who's  this? — why,  'tain't  Miss 
Alice  !  My  gracious  me  ! — and  all  wet ! — oh,  dear,  dear  !  poor 
lamb  !  Why,  Miss  Alice,  dear,  where  have  you  been  ? — and  if  that 
ain't  my  little  Ellen!  oh,  dear!  what  a  fix  you  are  in; — well, 
darling,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  again  a' most  any  way." 

She  crossed  over  to  kiss  Ellen  as  she  said  this ;  but  surprise  was 
not  more  quickly  alive  than  kindness  and  hospitality.  She  fell  to 
work  immediately  to  remove  Alice's  wet  things,  and  to  do  whatever 
their  joint  prudence  and  experience  might  suggest  to  ward  off  any 
ill  effects  from  the  fatigue  and  exposure  the  wanderers  had  suffered  ; 
and  while  she  was  thus  employed  Mr.  Van  Brunt  busied  himself 
with  Ellen,  who  was  really  in  no  condition  to  help  herself.  It  was 
curious  to  see  him  carefully  taking  off  Ellen's  wet  hood  (not  the 
blue  one)  and  knocking  it  gently  to  get  rid  of  the  snow ;  evidently 
thinking  that  ladies'  things  must  have  delicate  handling.  He  tried 
the  cloak  next,  but  boggled  sadly  at  the  fastening  of  that,  and  at 
last  was  fain  to  call  in  help. 

"Here,  Nancy! — where  are  you?  step  here  and  see  if  you  can 
undo  this  here  thing,  whatever  you  call  it ;  I  believe  my  fingers 
are  too  big  for  it." 

It  was  Ellen's  former  acquaintance  who  came  forward  in  obedi 
ence  to  this  call.  Ellen  had  not  seen  before  that  she  was  in  the 
room.  Nancy  grinned  a  mischievous  smile  of  recognition  as  she 
stooped  to  Ellen's  throat  and  undid  the  fastening  of  the  cloak,  and 
then  shortly  enough  bade  her  "  get  up,  that  she  might  take  it  off!" 
Ellen  obeyed,  but  was  very  glad  to  sit  down  again.  While  Nancy 
went  to  the  door  to  shake  the  cloak,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  gently 
pulling  off  Ellen's  wet  gloves,  and  on  Nancy's  return  he  directed 
her  to  take  off  the  shoes,  which  were  filled  with  snow.  Nancy  sat 
down  on  the  floor  before  Ellen  to  obey  this  order;  and  tired  and 
exhausted  as  she  was,  Ellen  felt  the  different  manner  in  which  her 
hands  and  feet  were  waited  upon. 

"  How  did  you  get  into  this  scrape?"  said  Nancy;  "  this  was 
none  of  my  doings  any  how.  It'll  never  be  dry  weather,  Ellen, 
where  you  are.  I  won't  put  on  my  Sunday-go-to-meeting  clothes 
when  I  go  a  walking  with  you.  You  had  ought  to  ha'  been  a  duck 
or  a  goose,  or  something  like  that. — What's  that  for,  Mr.  Van 
Brunt!" 

This  last  query,  pretty  sharply  spoken,  was  in  answer  to  a  light 
touch  of  that  gentleman's  hand  upon  Miss  Nancy  s  ear,  which  came 
rather  as  a  surprise.  He  deigned  no  reply. 

"  You're  a  fine  gentleman  !"  said  Nancy,  tartly. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  203 

"  Have  you  done  what  I  gave  you  to  do?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt 

coolly. 

«  Yes there  !"  said  Nancy,  holding  up  Ellen's  bare  feet  on  one 

hand,  while  the  fingers  of  the  other  secretly  applied  in  ticklish 
fashion  to  the  soles  of  them  caused  Ellen  suddenly  to  start  and 
scream. 

"Get  up!"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  Nancy  didn't  think  best  to 
disobey ;— "  Mother,  ha'n't  you  got  nothing  you  want  Nancy  to 
i\  ?' ' 

"Sally,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  "you  and  Nancy  go  and  fetch 
here  a  couple  of  pails  of  hot  water, — right  away." 

"  Go,  and  mind  what  you  are  about,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  "  and 
after  that  keep  out  of  this  room  and  don't  whisper  again  till  I  give 
you  leave.  Now  Miss  Ellen  dear,  how  do  you  feel?" 

Ellen  said  in  words  that  she  felt  "  nicely."      But  the ^ eyes  and 
the  smile  said  a  great  deal  more ;  Ellen's  heart  was  running  over. 
"Oh,  she'll  feel  nicely  directly,  I'll  be  bound,"  said  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt ;  "  wait  till  she  gets  her  feet  soaked,  and  then  !— — " 

"I  do  feel  nicely  now,"  said  Ellen.  And  Alice  smiled  in  an 
swer  to  their  inquiries,  and  said  if  she  only  knew  her  father  was 
easy  there  would  be  nothing  wanting  to  her  happiness. 

the  bathing  of  their  feet  was  a  great  refreshment,  and  their 
kind  hostess  had  got  ready  a  plentiful  supply  of  hot  herb  tea,  with 
which  both  Alice  and  Ellen  were  well  dosed.  While  they  sat  sip 
ping  this,  toasting  their  feet  before  the  fire,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  and 
the  girls  meanwhile  preparing  their  room,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  suddenly 
entered.  He  was  cloaked  and  hatted  and  had  a  riding-whip  in  his 
hand. 

"Is  there  any  word  you'd  like  to  get  home,  Miss  Alice?  I'm 
going  to  ride  a  good  piece  that  way,  and  I  can  stop  as  good  as 
not." 

"  To-night,  Mr.  Van  Brunt !"   exclaimed  Alice  in  astonishment. 
Mr.  Van  Brunt's  silence  seemed  to  say  that  to-night  was  the 
time  and  no  other. 

"  But  the  storm  is  too  bad,"  urged  Alice.  "Pray  don't  go  till 
to-morrow." 

"  Pray  don't,  Mr.  Van  Brunt !"  said  Ellen. 
"  Can't  help  it — I've  got  business ;  must  go.    What  shall  I  say, 
ma'am." 

"I  should  be 'very  glad,"  said  Alice,  "to  have  my  father  know 
where  I  am.     Are  you  going  very  near  the  Nose  ?" 
"  Very  near." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to 
stop  and  relieve  my  father's  anxiety.  But  how  can  you  go  in  such 
weather?  and  so  dark  as  it  is." 

"Never  fear,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt.     "We'll  be  back  in  half 


204  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

an  hour,  if  'Brahm  and  ine  don't  come  across  a  snowdrift  a  leetle 
too  deep.  Good-night,  ma'am."  And  out  he  went. 

u  '  Back  in  half  an  hour,'  "  said  Alice  musing.  "  Why,  he  said 
he  had  been  to  untie  his  horse  for  the  night !  He  must  be  going 
on  our  account,  I  am  sure,  Ellen !" 

"  On  your  account,"  said  Ellen  smiling.  "  Oh,  I  knew  that  all 
the  time,  Miss  Alice.  I  don't  think  he'll  stop  to  relieve  aunt  For 
tune's  anxiety." 

Alice  sprang  to  call  him  back ;  but  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  assured  her 
it  was  too  late,  and  that  she  need  not  be  uneasy,  for  her  son 
"  didn't  mind  the  storm  no  more  than  a  weatherboard."  'Brahm 
and  'Brahm  could  go  anywhere  in  any  sort  of  a  time.  "  He  was 
a  going  without  speaking  to  you,  but  I  told  him  he  had  better,  for 
maybe  you  wanted  to  send  some  word  particular.  And  your  room's 
ready  now,  dear,  and  you'd  better  go  to  bed  and  sleep  as  long  as 
you  can." 

They  went  thankfully.  "Isn't  this  a  pleasant  room?"  said 
Ellen,  who  saw  every  thing  in  rose-colour ;  "and  a  nice  bed  ?  But 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  sleep  on  the  floor  to-night.  Isn'  it  a' most  worth 
while  to  have  such  a  time,  Miss  Alice,  for  the  sake  of  the  pleasure 
afterwards?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Ellen,"  said  Alice  smiling;  "  I  won't  say  that; 
though  it  is  worth  paying  a  price  for  to  find  how  much  kindness 
there  is  in  some  people's  hearts.  As  to  sleeping  on  the  floor,  I 
must  say  I  never  felt  less  inclined  to  it." 

"Well,  I  am  tired  enough  too,"  said  Ellen  as  they  laid  them 
selves  down.  "  Two  nights  with  you  in  a  week  !  Oh,  those  weeks 
before  I  saw  you.  Miss  Alice !" 

One  earnest  kiss  for  good-night;  and  Ellen's  sigh  of  pleasure  on 
touching  the  pillow  was  scarcely  breathed  when  sleep  deep  and 
sound  fell  upon  her  eyelids. 

It  was  very  late  next  morning  when  they  awoke,  having  slept 
rather  heavily  than  well.  They  crawled  out  of  bed  feeling  stiff 
and  sore  in  every  limb ;  each  confessing  to  more  evil  effects  from 
their  adventure  than  she  had  been  aware  of  the  evening  before. 
All  the  rubbing  and  bathing  and  drinking  that  Mrs.  Van  Brunt 
had  administered  had  been  too  little  to  undo  what  wet  and  cold 
and  fatigue  had  done.  But  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  had  set  her  breakfast- 
table  with  every  thing  her  house  could  furnish  that  was  nice  ;  a 
bountifully  spread  board  it  was.  Mr.  Humphreys  was  there  too ; 
and  no  bad  feelings  of  two  of  the  party  could  prevent  that  from 
being  a  most  cheerful  and  pleasant  meal.  Even  Mr.  Humphreys 
and  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  two  persons  not  usually  given  to  many  words, 
came  out  wonderfully  on  this  occasion ;  gratitude  and  pleasure  in 
the  one,  and  generous  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  other,  untied  their 
tongues ;  and  Ellen  looked  from  one  to  the  other  in  some  amaze- 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  205 

ment  to  see  how  agreeable  they  could  be.  Kindness  and  hospitality 
always  kept  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  in  full  flow ;  and  Alice,  whatever  she 
felt,  exerted  herself  and  supplied  what  was  wanting  everywhere ; 
like  the  transparent  glazing  which  painters  use  to  spread  over  the 
dead  colour  of  their  pictures;  unknown,  it  was  she  gave  life  and 
harmony  to  the  whole.  And  Ellen  in  her  enjoyment  of  every  thing 
and  every  body,  forgot  or  despised  aches  and  pains,  and  even  whis 
pered  to  Alice  that  coffee  was  making  her  well  again. 

But  happy  breakfasts  must  come  to  an  end,  and  so  did  this, 
prolonged  though  it  was.  Immediately  after,  the  party  whom 
circumstances  had  gathered  for  the  first  and  probably  the  last  time, 
scattered  again ;  but  the  meeting  had  left  pleasant  effects  on  all 
minds.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  was  in  general  delight  that  she  had 
entertained  so  many  people  she  thought  a  great  deal  of,  and  par 
ticularly  glad  of  the  chance  of  showing  her  kind  feelings  toward 
two  of  the  number.  Mr.  Humphreys  remarked  upon  "that  very 
sensible,  good-hearted  man,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  toward  whom  he  felt 
himself  under  great  obligation."  Mr.  Van  Brunt  said  "  the  min 
ister  warn't  such  a  grum  man  as  people  called  him  ;"  and  more 
over  said,  "  it  was  a  good  thing  to  have  an  education,  and  he  had 
a  notion  to  read  more."  As  for  Alice  and  Ellen,  they  went  away 
full  of  kind  feeling  for  every  one  and  much  love  to  each  other. 
This  was  true  of  them  before  ;  but  their  late  troubles  had  drawn 
them  closer  together  and  given  them  fresh  occasion  to  value  their 
friends. 

Mr.  Humphreys  had  brought  the  little  one-horse  sleigh  for  his 
daughter,  and  soon  after  breakfast  Ellen  saw  it  drive  off  with  her. 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  then  harnessed  his  own  and  carried  Ellen  home. 
Ill  though  she  felt,  the  poor  child  made  an  effort  and  spent  part  of 
the  morning  in  finishing  the  long  letter  to  her  mother  which  had 
been  on  the  stocks  since  Monday.  The  effort  became  painful 
toward  the  last;  and  the  aching  limbs  and  trembling  hand  of 
which  she  complained  were  the  first  beginnings  of  a  serious  fit  of 
illness.  She  went  to  bed  that  same  afternoon,  and  did  not  leave  it 
again  for  two  weeks.  Cold  had  taken  violent  hold  of  her  system ; 
fever  set  in  and  ran  high ;  and  half  the  time  little  Ellen's  wits 
were  roving  in  delirium.  Nothing  however  could  be  too  much  for 
Miss  Fortune's  energies  ;  she  was  as  much  at  home  in  a  sick 
room  as  in  a  well  one.  She  flew  about  with  increased  agility ; 
was  up  stairs  and  down  stairs  twenty  times  in  the  course  of  a  day, 
and  kept  all  straight  everywhere.  Ellen's  room  was  always  the 
picture  of  neatness;  the  fire,  the  wood-fire,  was  taken  care  of; 
Miss  Fortune  seemed  to  know  by  instinct  when  it  wanted  a  fresh 
supply,  and  to  be  on  the  spot  by  magic  to  give  it.  Ellen's  medi 
cines  were  dealt  out  in  proper  time ;  her  gruels  and  drinks  per 
fectly  well  made  and  arranged  with  appetizing  nicety  on  a  little 

18 


206  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

table  by  the  bedside  where  she  could  reach  them  herself;  and  Miss 
Fortune  was  generally  at  hand  when  she  was  wanted.  But  in 
spite  of  all  this  there  was  something  missing  in  that  sick  room, — 
there  was  a  great  want ;  and  whenever  the  delirium  was  upon  her 
Ellen  made  no  secret  of  it.  She  was  never  violent ;  but  she 
moaned,  sometimes  impatiently  and  sometimes  plaintively,  for  her 
mother.  It  was  a  vexation  to  Miss  Fortune  to  hear  her.  The 
name  of  her  mother  was  all  the  time  on  her  lips ;  if  by  chance 
her  aunt's  name  came  in,  it  was  spoken  in  a  way  that  generally 
sent  her  bouncing  out  of  the  room. 

"Mamma,"  poor  Ellen  would  say,  "just  lay  your  hand  on  my 
forehead,  will  you?  it's  so  hot.  Oh,  do,  mamma! — where  are 
you?  Do  put  your  hand  on  my  forehead,  won't  you? — Oh,  do 
speak  to  me,  why  don't  you,  mamma?  Oh,  why  don't  she  come 
to  me  !" 

Once  when  Ellen  was  uneasily  calling  in  this  fashion  for  her 
mother's  hand,  Miss  Fortune  softly  laid  her  own  upon  the  child's 
brow;  but  the  quick  sudden  jerk  of  the  head  from  under  it  told 
her  how  well  Ellen  knew  the  one  from  the  other ;  and  little  as  she 
cared  for  Ellen  it  was  wormwood  to  her. 

Miss  Fortune  was  not  without  offers  of  help  during  this  sick 
time.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  and  afterwards  Mrs.  Vawse,  asked  leave 
to  come  and  nurse  Ellen  ;  but  Miss  Fortune  declared  it  was  more 
plague  than  profit  to  her;  and  she  couldn't  be  bothered  with  hav 
ing  strangers  about.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  she  suffered,  much  against 
her  will,  to  come  for  a  day  or  two :  at  the  end  of  that  Miss  For 
tune  found  means  to  get  rid  of  her  civilly.  Mrs.  Vawse  she  would 
not  allow  to  stay  an  hour.  The  old  lady  got  leave  however  to  go 
up  to  the  sick  room  for  a  few  minutes.  Ellen,  who  was  then  in  a 
high  fever,  informed  her  that  her  mother  was  down  stairs,  and  her 
aunt  Fortune  would  not  let  her  come  up ;  she  pleaded  with  tears 
that  she  might  come,  and  entreated  Mrs.  Vawse  to  take  her  aunt 
away  and  send  her  mother.  Mrs.  Vawse  tried  to  soothe  her. 
Miss  Fortune  grew  impatient. 

"What  on  earth's  the  use,"  said  she,  "of  talking  to  a  child 
that's  out  of  her  head?  She  can't  hear  reason;  that's  the  way 
she  gets  into  whenever  the  fever's  on  her.  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  that  sort  of  thing  all  the  time.  Come  away,  Mrs.  Vawse, 
and  leave  her;  she  can't  be  better  any  way  than  alone,  and  I  am 
in  the  room  every  other  thing ; — she's  just  as  well  quiet.  Nobody 
knows,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  on  her  way  down  stairs, — "nobody 
knows  the  blessing  of  taking  care  of  other  people's  children  that 
ha' n't  tried  it.  Tve  tried  it,  to  my  heart's  content." 

Mrs  Vawse  sighed,  but  departed  in  silence. 

It  was  not  when  the  fever  was  on  her  and  delirium  high  that 
Ellen  most  felt  the  want  she  then  so  pitifully  made  known.  There 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  207 

were  other  times, — when  her  head  was  aching,  and  weary  and  weak 
she  lay  still  there, — Oh,  how  she  longed  then  for  the  dear  wonted 
face ;  the  old  quiet  smile  that  carried  so  much  of  comfort  and  as 
surance  with  it;  the  voice  that  was  like  heaven's  music;  the  touch 
of  that  loved  hand  to  which  she  had  clung  for  so  many  years ! 
She  could  scarcely  bear  to  think  of  it  sometimes.  In  the  still 
wakeful  hours  of  night,  when  the  only  sound  to  be  heard  was  the 
heavy  breathing  of  her  aunt  asleep  on  the  floor  by  her  side,  and  in 
the  long  solitary  day,  when  the  only  variety  to  be  looked  for  was 
Miss  Fortune's  flitting  in  and  out,  and  there  came  to  be  a  sameness 
about  that, — Ellen  mourned  her  loss  bitterly.  Many  and  many 
were  the  silent  tears  that  rolled  down  and  wet  her  pillow ;  many  a 
long-drawn  sigh  came  from  the  very  bottom  of  Ellen's  heart;  she 
was  too  weak  and  subdued  now  for  violent  weeping.  She  won 
dered  sadly  why  Alice  did  not  come  to  see  her;  it  was  another 
great  grief  added  to  the  former.  She  never  chose,  however,  to 
mention  her  name  to  her  aunt.  She  kept  her  wonder  and  her 
sorrow  to  herself, — all  the  harder  to  bear  for  that.  After  two 
weeks  Ellen  began  to  mend,  and  then  she  became  exceedingly 
weary  of  being  alone  and  shut  up  to  her  room.  It  was  a  pleasure 
to  have  her"  Bible  and  hymn-book  lying  upon  the  bed,  and  a  great 
comfort  when  she  was  able  to  look  at  a  few  words ;  but  that  was 
not  very  often,  and  she  longed  to  see  somebody,  and  hear  some 
thing  besides  her  aunt's  dry  questions  and  answers. 

One  afternoon  Ellen  was  sitting,  alone  as  usual,  bolstered  up  in 
bed.  Her  little  hymn-book  was  clasped  in  her  hand  ;  though  not 
equal  to  reading,  she  felt  the  touch  of  it  a  solace  to  her.  Half 
dozing,  half  waking,  she  had  been  perfectly  quiet  for  some  time, 
when  the  sudden  and  not  very  gentle  opening  of  the  room  door 
caused  her  to  start  and  open  her  eyes.  They  opened  wider  than 
usual,  for  instead  of  her  aunt  Fortune  it  was  the  figure  of  Miss 
Nancy  Vawse  that  presented  itself.  She  came  in  briskly,  and 
shutting  the  door  behind  her  advanced  to  the  bedside. 

"Well!"  said  she,  "there  you  are!  Why,  you  look  smart 
enough.  I've  come  to  see  you." 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Ellen,  uneasily. 

"  Miss  Fortune's  gone  out,  and  she  told  me  to  come  and  take 
care  of  you;  so  I'm  a  going  to  spend  the  afternoon." 

"  Are  you  ?"  said  Ellen  again. 

"  Yes — ain't  you  glad  !  I  knew  you  must  be  lonely,  so  I  thought 
I'd  come." 

There  was  a  mischievous  twinkle  in  Nancy's  eyes.  Ellen  for 
once  in  her  life  wished  for  her  aunt's  presence. 

"What  are  you  doing?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Nothing  indeed  !    It's  a  fine  thing  to  lie  there  and  do  nothing. 


208  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

You  won't  get  well  in  a  hurry,  I  guess,  will  you?  You  look  as 
well  as  I  do  this  minute.  Oh,  I  always  knew  you  was  a  sham." 

"You  are  very  much  mistaken,"  said  Ellen,  indignantly;  "I 
have  been  very  sick,  and  I  am  not  at  all  well  yet." 

"  Fiddle-de-dee  !  it's  very  nice  to  think  so  ;  I  guess  you're  lazy. 
How  soft  and  good  those  pillows  do  look  to  be  sure.  Come,  Ellen, 
try  getting  up  a  little.  /  believe  you  hurt  yourself  with  sleeping. 
It'll  do  you  good  to  be  out  of  bed  awhile ;  come  !  get  up." 

She  pulled  Ellen's  arm  as  she  spoke. 

"Stop,  Nancy,  let  me  alone!"  cried  Ellen,  struggling  with  all 
her  force, — "I  musn't — I  can't!  I  musn't  get  up;  what  do  you 
mean  ?  I'm  not  able  to  sit  up  at  all ;  let  me  go  !" 

She  succeeded  in  freeing  herself  from  Nancy' s  grasp. 

11  Well,  you're  an  obstinate  piece,"  said  the  other;  "have  your 
own  way.  But  mind,  I'm  left  in  charge  of  you;  is  it  time  for 
you  to  take  your  physic  ?' ' 

"  I  am  not  taking  any,"  said  Ellen. 

"  What  are  you  taking  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  gruel  and  little  things." 

"  '  Gruel  and  little  things  ;'  little  things  means  something  good, 
I  s'pose.  Well,  is  it  time  for  you  to  take  some  gruel  or  one  of 
the  little  things?" 

"No,  I  don't  want  any." 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing  ;  people  never  know  what's  good  for  them  ; 
I'm  your  nurse  now,  and  I'm  going  to  give  it  to  you  when  I  think 
you  want  it.  Let  me  feel  your  pulse — yes,  your  pulse  says  gruel 
is  wanting.  I  shall  put  some  down  to  warm  right  away." 

"  I  shan't  take  it,"  said  Ellen. 

"That's  a  likely  story!  You'd  better  not  say  so.  I  rather 
s'pose  you  will  if  I  give  it  to  you.  Look  here,  Ellen,  you'd  better 
mind  how  you  behave  ;  you're  going  to  do  just  what  I  tell  you.  I 
know  how  to  manage  you ;  if  you  make  any  fuss  I  shall  just 
tickle  you  finely,"  said  Nancy,  as  she  prepared  a  bed  of  coals,  and 
set  the  cup  of  gruel  on  it  to  get  hot, — "I'll  do  it  in  no  time  at 
all,  my  young  lady — so  you'd  better  mind." 

Poor  Ellen  involuntarily  curled  up  her  feet  under  the  bed 
clothes,  so  as  to  get  them  as  far  as  possible  out  of  harm's  way.  She 
judged  the  best  thing  was  to  keep  quiet  if  she  could ;  so  she  said 
nothing.  Nancy  was  in  great  glee ;  with  something  of  the  same 
spirit  of  mischief  that  a  cat  shows  when  she  has  a  captured  mouse 
at  the  end  of  her  paws.  While  the  gruel  was  heating  she  spun 
round  the  room  in  quest  of  amusement;  and  her  sudden  jerks  and 
flings  from  one  place  and  thing  to  another  had  so  much  of  lawless 
ness  that  Ellen  was  in  perpetual  terror  as  to  what  she  might  take 
it  into  her  head  to  do  next. 

"  Where  does  that  door  lead  to  ?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  209 

"  I  believe  that  one  leads  to  the  garret,"  said  Ellen. 
"  You  believe  so  ?  why  don't  you  say  it  does,  at  once  ?" 

"  I  haven't  been  up  to  see." 

"  You  haven't !  you  expect  me  to  believe  that,  I  s'pose?  I  am 
not  quite  such  a  gull  as  you  take  me  for.  What's  up  there  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  of  course." 

"  Of  course !  I  declare  I  don't  know  what  you  are  up  to 
exactly;  but  if  you  won't  tell  me  I'll  find  out  for  myself  pretty 
quick, — that's  one  thing." 

She  flung  open  the  door  and  ran  up ;  and  Ellen  heard  her  feet 
trampling  overhead  from  one  end  of  the  house  to  the  other ;  and 
sounds  too  of  pushing  and  pulling  things  over  the  floor  j  it  was 
plain  Nancy  was  rummaging. 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  turned  uneasily  upon  her  bed,  "it's 
no  affair  of  mine  ;  I  can't  help  it,  whatever  she  does.  But  oh ! 
won't  aunt  Fortune  be  angry !" 

Nancy  presently  came  down  with  her  frock  gathered  up  into  a 
bag  before  her. 

"  What  do  you  think  I  have  got  here?"  said  she.  "I  s'pose 
you  didn't  know  there  was  a  basket  of  fine  hickory  nuts  up  there 
in  the  corner  ?  Was  it  you  or  Miss  Fortune  that  hid  them  away 
so  nicely  ?  I  s'pose  she  thought  nobody  would  ever  think  of  looking 
behind  the  great  blue  chest  and  under  the  feather  bed,  but  it  takes 
me ! — Miss  Fortune  was  afraid  of  your  stealing  'em,  I  guess 
Ellen?" 

"  She  needn't  have  been,"  said  Ellen,  indignantly. 

"No,  I  s'pose  you  wouldn't  take  'em  if  you  saw  'em;  you 
wouldn't  eat  'em  if  they  were  cracked  for  you,  would  you  ?" 

She  flung  some  on  Ellen's  bed  as  she  spoke.  Nancy  had  seated 
herself  on  the  floor,  and  using  for  a  hammer  a  piece  of  old  iron 
she  had  brought  down  with  her  from  the  garret,  she  was  cracking 
the  nuts  on  the  clean  white  hearth. 

"Indeed  I  wouldn't !"  said  Ellen,  throwing  them  back;  "and 
you  oughtn't  to  crack  them  there,  Nancy, — you'll  make  a  dreadful 
muss." 

"What  do  you  think  I  care?"  said  the  other,  scornfully.  She 
leisurely  cracked  and  eat  as  many  as  she  pleased  of  the  nuts,  be 
stowing  the  rest  in  the  bosom  of  her  frock.  Ellen  watched  fear 
fully  for  her  next  move.  If  she  should  open  the  little  door  and 
get  among  her  books  and  boxes. 

Nancy's  first  care  however  was  the  cup  of  gruel.  It  was  found 
too  hot  for  any  mortal  lips  to  bear,  so  it  was  set  on  one  side  to  cool. 
Then  taking  up  her  rambling  examination  of  the  room,  she  went 
from  window  to  window. 

"  What  fine  big  windows  !  one  might  get  in  here  easy  enough. 
I  declare,  Ellen,  some  night  I'll  set  the  ladder  up  against  here,  and 
o  18* 


210  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

the  first  thing  you'll  see  will  be  me  coming  in.  You'll  have  me  to 
sleep  with  you  before  you  think." 

"I'll  fasten  my  windows,"  said  Ellen. 

"No,  you  won't.  You'll  do  it  a  night  or  two,  maybe,  but  then 
you7 11  forget  it.  I  shall  find  them  open  when  I  come.  Oh,  I'll 
come !" 

"  But  I  could  call  aunt  Fortune,"  said  Ellen. 

"  No,  you  couldn't,  'cause  if  you  spoke  a  word  I'd  tickle  you  to 
death ;  that's  what  I'd  do.  I  know  how  to  fix  you  off.  And  if 
you  did  call  her  I'd  just  whap  out  of  the  window  and  run  off  with 
my  ladder,  and  then  you'd  get  a  fine  combing  for  disturbing  the 
house.  What's  in  this  trunk?" 

"  Only  my  clothes  and  things,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  goody  !  that's  fine  ;  now  I'll  have  a  look  at  'em.  That's  just 
what  I  wanted,  only  I  didn't  know  it.  Where's  the  key?  Oh, 
here  it  is  sticking  in, — that's  good  !" 

"  Oh,  please,  don't!"  said  Ellen,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow, 
"  they're  all  in  nice  order  and  you'll  get  them  all  in  confusion.  Oh, 
do  let  them  alone  !" 

"You'd  best  be  quiet  or  I'll  come  and  see  you,"  said  Nancy; 
"  I'm  just  going  to  look  at  every  thing  in  it,  and  if  I  find  any  thing 
out  of  sorts,  you'll  get  it. — What's  this?  ruffles,  I  declare!  ain't 
you  fine  !  I'll  see  how  they  look  on  me.  What  a  plague !  you 
haven't  a  glass  in  the  room.  Never  mind, — I  am  used  to  dressing 
without  a  glass." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  said  Ellen,  who  was  worried  to  the 


My  goodi 

The  nice  blue  hood  was  turning  about  in  Nancy's  fingers,  and 
well  looked  at  inside  and  out.  Ellen  was  in  distress  for  fear  it 
would  go  on  Nancy's  head,  as  well  as  the  ruffles  round  her  neck  ; 
but  it  didn't;  she  flung  it  at  length  on  one  side,  and  went  on  pull 
ing  out  one  thing  after  another,  strewing  them  very  carelessly  about 
the  floor. 

"  What's  here?  a  pair  of  dirty  stockings,  as  I  am  alive.  Ain't 
you  ashamed  to  put  dirty  stockings  in  your  trunk  ?' 

"  They  are  no  such  thing,"  said  Ellen,  who  in  her  vexation  was 
in  danger  of  forgetting  her  fear, — "  I've  worn  them  but  once." 

"They've  no  business  in  here  anyhow,"  said  Nancy,  rolling 
them  up  in  a  hard  ball  and  giving  them  a  sudden  fling  at  Ellen. 
They  just  missed  her  face  and  struck  the  wall  beyond.  Ellen  seized 
them  to  throw  back,  but  her  weakness  warned  her  she  was  notable, 
and  a  moment  reminded  her  of  the  folly  of  doing  any  thing  to 
rouse  Nancy,  who  for  the  present  was  pretty  quiet.  Ellen  lay 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  211 

upon  her  pillow  and  looked  on,  ready  to  cry  with  vexation.  All 
her  nicely  stowed  piles  of  white  clothes  were  ruthlessly  hurled  out 
and  tumbled  about ;  her  capes  tried  on ;  her  summer  dresses  un 
folded,  displayed,  criticised.  Nancy  decided  one  was  too  short; 
another  very  ugly  ;  a  third  horribly  ill-made ;  and  when  she  had 
done  with  each  it  was  cast  out  of  her  way  on  one  side  or  the  other 
as  the  case  might  be. 

The  floor  was  littered  with  clothes  in  various  states  of  disarrange 
ment  and  confusion.  The  bottom  of  the  trunk  was  reached  at  last, 
and  then  Nancy  suddenly  recollected  her  gruel,  and  sprang  to  it. 
But  it  had  grown  cold  again. 

"  This  won't  do,"  said  Nancy,  as  she  put  it  on  the  coals  again, — 
"  it  must  be  just  right ;  it'll  warm  soon,  and  then,  Miss  Ellen,  you're 
a  going  to  take  it,  whether  or  no.  I  hope  you  won't  give  me  the 
pleasure  of  pouring  it  down." 

Meanwhile  she  opened  the  little  door  of  Ellen's  study  closet  and 
went  in  there,  though  Ellen  begged  her  not.  She  pulled  the  door 
to,  and  stayed  some  time  perfectly  quiet.  Not  able  to  see  or  hear 
what  she  was  doing,  and  fretted  beyond  measure  that  her  work-box 
and  writing-desk  should  be  at  Nancy's  mercy,  or  even  feel  the  touch 
of  her  fingers,  Ellen  at  last  could  stand  it  no  longer  but  threw  her 
self  out  of  the  bed,  weak  as  she  was,  and  went  to  see  what  was 
going  on.  Nancy  was  seated  quietly  on  the  floor,  examining  with 
much  seeming  interest  the  contents  of  the  work-box  ;  trying  on  the 
thimble,  cutting  bits  of  thread  with  the  scissors,  and  marking  the 
ends  of  the  spools ;  with  whatever  like  pieces  of  mischief  her 
restless  spirit  could  devise ;  but  when  Ellen  opened  the  door  she 
put  the  box  from  her  and  started  up. 

"My  goodness  me  !"  said  she,  "  this'll  never  do.  What  are  you 
out  here  for?  you'll  catch  your  death  with  those  dear  little  bare 
feet,  and  we  shall  have  the  mischief  to  pay." 

As  she  said  this  she  caught  up  Ellen  in  her  arms  as  if  she  had 
been  a  baby  and  carried  her  back  to  the  bed,  where  she  laid  her 
with  two  or  three  little  shakes,  and  then  proceeded  to  spread  up 
the  clothes  and  tuck  her  in  all  round.  She  then  ran  for  the  gruel. 
Ellen  was  in  great  question  whether  to  give  way  to  tears  or  vexa 
tion  ;  but  with  some  difficulty  determined  upon  vexation  as  the 
best  plan.  Nancy  prepared  the  gruel  to  her  liking,  and  brought 
it  to  the  bedside ;  but  to  get  it  swallowed  was  another  matter. 
Nancy  was  resolved  Ellen  should  take  it.  Ellen  had  less  strength 
but  quite  as  much  obstinacy  as  her  enemy,  and  she  was  equally 
resolved  not  to  drink  a  drop.  Between  laughing  on  Nancy's  part, 
and  very  serious  anger  on  Ellen's,  a  struggle  ensued.  Nancy 
tried  to  force  it  down,  but  Ellen's  shut  teeth  were  as  firm  as  a 
vice,  and  the  end  was  that  two-thirds  were  bestowed  on  the  sheet. 
Ellen  burst  into  tears.  Nancy  laughed. 


212  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Well,  I  do  think,"  said  she,  "  you  are  one  of  the  hardest  cus 
tomers  ever  I  came  across.  I  shouldn't  want  to  have  the  man 
aging  of  you  when  you  get  a  little  bigger.  Oh,  the  way  Miss  For 
tune  will  look  when  she  comes  in  here  will  be  a  caution  !  Oh, 
what  fun  !" 

Nancy  shouted  and  clapped  her  hands.  u  Come,  stop  crying!" 
said  sbe,  "  what  a  baby  you  are !  what  are  you  crying  for?  come, 
stop  ! — I'll  make  you  laugh  if  you  don't." 

Two  or  three  little  applications  of  Nancy's  fingers  made  her 
words  good,  but  laughing  was  mixed  with  crying,  and  Ellen 
writhed  in  hysterics.  Just  then  came  a  little  knock  at  the  door. 
Ellen  did  not  hear  it,  but  it  quieted  Nancy.  She  stood  still  a  mo 
ment  ;  and  then  as  the  knock  was  repeated  she  called  out  boldly 
"  Come  in  !"  Ellen  raised  her  head  "  to  see  who  there  might  be  ;" 
and  great  was  the  surprise  of  both  and  the  joy  of  one  as  the  tall 
form  and  broad  shoulders  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt  presented  them 
selves. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  sobbed  Ellen,  "I  am  so  glad  to  see 
you  !  won't  you  please  send  Nancy  away?" 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?"  said  the  astonished  Dutchman. 
"Look  and  see,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Nancy  with  a  smile  of 
mischief's  own  curling  ;  "  you  won't  be  long  finding  out  I  guess." 
"  Take  yourself  off,  and  don't  let  me  hear  of  your  being  caught 
here  again." 

"  I'll  go  when  I'm  ready,  thank  you,"  said  Nancy ;  "  and  as  to 
the  rest  I  haven't  been  caught  the  first  time  yet ;  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean." 

She  sprang  as  she  finished  her  sentence,  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
made  a  sudden  movement  to  catch  her  then  and  there.  He  was 
foiled ;  and  then  began  a  running  chase  round  the  room,  in  the 
course  of  which  Nancy  dodged,  pushed,  and  sprang,  with  the  power 
of  squeezing  by  impassables  and  overleaping  impossibilities,  that 
to  say  the  least  of  it  was  remarkable.  The  room  was  too  small 
for  her  and  she  was  caught  at  last. 

"I  vow!"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  as  he  pinioned  her  hands,  "I 
should  like  to  see  you  play  blind-man's-buff  for  once,  if  I  warn't 
the  blind  man." 

"  How'd  you  see  me  if  you  was?"  said  Nancy,  scornfully. 
"  Now,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as  he  brought  her  to 
Ellen's  bedside,  "  here  she  is  safe ;  what  shall  I  do  with  her?" 

"  If  you  will  only  send  her  away,  and  not  let  her  come  back, 
Mr.  Van  Brunt !"  said  Ellen,  "  I'll  be  so  much  obliged  to  you  !" 

"Let  me  go!"  said  Nancy.  "I  declare  you're  a  real  mean 
Dutchman,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  one,  and  laid  the  other  lightly  over 
her  ears. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  213 

"I'll  let  you  go,"  said  he.  "Now,  don't  you  be  caught  here 
again  if  you  know  what  is  good  for  yourself." 

He  saw  Miss  Nancy  out  of  the  door,  and  then  came  back  to 
Ellen,  who  was  crying  heartily  again  from  nervous  vexation. 

"She's  gone,"  said  he.  "What  has  that  wicked  thing  been 
doing,  Miss  Ellen?  what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,  "you  can't  think  how  she 
has  worried  me ;  she  has  been  here  this  great  while ;  just  look  at 
all  my  things  on  the  floor,  and  that  isn't  the  half." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  gave  a  Jong  whistle  as  his  eye  surveyed  the  tokens 
of  Miss  Nancy's  mischief-making,  over  and  through  which  both 
she  and  himself  had  been  chasing  at  full  speed,  making  the  state 
of  matters  rather  worse  than  it  was  before. 

"  I  do  say,"  said  he,  slowly,  "  that  is  too  bad.  I'd  fix  them  up 
again  for  you,  Miss  Ellen,  if  I  knew  how  ;  but  my  hands  are  a'most 
as  clumsy  as  my  feet,  and  I  see  the  marks  of  them  there  ;  it's  too 
bad  I  declare  ;  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  going  on." 

"Never  mind,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,—"!  don't  mind 
what  you  have  done  a  bit.  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !" 

She  put  out  her  little  hand  to  him  as  she  spoke.  He  took  it  in 
his  own  silently,  but  though  he  said  and  showed  nothing  of  it, 
Ellen's  look  and  tone  of  affection  thrilled  his  heart  with  pleasure 

£  How  do  you  do?"  said  he  kindly. 

"I'm  a  great  deal  better,"  said  Ellen.  "Sit  down,  won't  you, 
Mr.  Van  Brunt?  I  want  to  see  you  a  little." 

Horses  wouldn't  have  drawn  him  away  after  that  He  sat 
down. 

"  Ain't  you  going  to  be  up  again  some  of  these  days?"  said  he 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  hope  so,"  said  Ellen  sighing ;  "  I  am  very  tired  of 
lying  here. 

He  looked  round  the  room ;  got  up  and  mended  the  fire ;  then 
came  and  sat  down  again. 

"  I  was  up  yesterday  for  a  minute,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  the  chair 
tired  me  so  I  was  glad  to  get  back  to  bed  again." 

It  was  no  wonder;  harder  and  straighter-backed  chairs  never 
were  invented.  Probably  Mr.  Van  Brunt  thought  so. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  have  a  rocking-cheer  ?"  said  he  suddenly 
as  if  a  bright  thought  had  struck  him. 

"Oh,  yes,  how  much  I  should!"  said  Ellen,  with  another  long- 
drawn^breath,  «  but  there  isn't  such  a  thing  in  the  house  that  ever 

"Ay,  but  there  is  in  other  houses  though,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
with  as  near  an  approach  to  a  smile  as  his  lips  commonly  made  •— 
we'll  see !" 

Ellen  smiled  more  broadly.  «  But  don't  you  give  yourself  any 
trouble  for  me,"  said  she. 


214  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"Trouble  indeed!"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  "I  don't  know  any 
thing  about  that.  How  came  that  wicked  thing  up  here  to  plague 
you  ?' ' 

"  She  said  aunt  Fortune  left  her  to  take  care  of  me." 

"That's  one  of  her  lies.  Your  aunt's  gone  out,  I  know;  but 
she's  a  trifle  wiser  than  to  do  such  a  thing  as  that.  She  has  plagued 
you  badly,  ha' n't  she  ?" 

He  might  have  thought  so.  The  colour  which  excitement  brought 
into  Ellen's  face  had  faded  away,  and  she  had  settled  herself  back 
against  her  pillow  with  an  expression  of  weakness  and  weariness 
that  the  strong  man  saw  and  felt. 

"  What  is  there  I  can  do  for  you?"  said  he,  with  a  gentleness 
that  seemed  almost  strange  from  such  lips. 

"If  you  would,"  said  Ellen  faintly, — "if  you  could  be  so  kind 
as  to  read  me  a  hymn  ? — I  should  be  so  glad.  I've  had  nobody  to 
read  to  me." 

Her  hand  put  the  little  book  toward  him  as  she  said  so. 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  vastly  rather  any  one  had  asked  him  to 
plough  an  acre.  He  was  to  the  full  as  much  confounded  as  poor 
Ellen  had  once  been  at  a  request  of  his.  He  hesitated,  and  looked 
toward  Ellen  wishing  for  an  excuse.  But  the  pale  little  face  that 
lay  there  against  the  pillow, — the  drooping  eyelids, — the  meek 
helpless  look  of  the  little  child,  put  all  excuses  out  of  his  head ; 
and  though  he  would  have  chosen  to  do  almost  any  thing  else,  he 
took  the  book  and  asked  her  "  Where  ?"  She  said  anywhere  j  and 
he  took  the  first  he  saw. 

"  Poor,  weak,  and  worthless  though  I  am, 

I  have  a  rich  almighty  friend ; 
Jesus  the  Saviour  is  his  name, 

He  freely  loves,  and  without  end." 

"  Oh,"  said  Ellen  with  a  sigh  of  pleasure,  and  folding  her  hands 
on  her  breast, — "  how  lovely  that  is  !" 

He  stopped  and  looked  at  her  a  moment,  and  then  went  on  with 
increased  gravity. 

"  He  ransom'd  me  from  hell  with  blood, 

And  by  his  pow'r  my  foes  controll'd ; 
He  found  me  wand'ring  far  from  God, 
And  brought  me  to  his  chosen  fold." 

"  Fold?"  said  Ellen,  opening  her  eyes  ;  "  what  is  that?" 

"It's  where  sheep  are  penned,  ain't  it?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 

after  a  pause. 

"Oh,   yes!"  said  Ellen,  "that's  it;    I  remember;    that's    like 

what  he  said,  1 1  am  the  good  shepherd,'  and   '  the  Lord  is  my 

shepherd  ;'  I  know  now.     Go  on,  please." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


215 


He  finished  the  hymn  without  more  interruption.  Looking 
again  toward  Ellen,  he  was  surprised  to  see  several  large  tears 
finding  their  way  down  her  cheeks  from  under  the  wet  eyelash. 
But  she  quickly  wiped  them  away. 

"What  do  you  read  them  things  for,"  said  he,  "if  they  make 
you  feel  bad?" 

"Feel  bad!"  said  Ellen.  "Oh,  they  don't;  they  make  me 
happy ;  I  love  them  dearly.  I  never  read  that  one  before.  You 
can't  think  how  much  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  reading  it  to  me. 
Will  you  let  me  see  where  it  is?" 

He  gave  it  her. 


"Yes,  there's  his  mark!"  said  Ellen,  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"  Now,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  would  you  be  so  very  good  as  to  read  it 
once  more?" 

He  obeyed.  It  was  easier  this  time.  She  listened  as  before 
with  closed  eyes,  but  the  colour  came  and  went  once  or  twice. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  when  he  had  done.  "Are 
you  going?" 

"  I  must ;  I  have  some  things  to  look  after." 

She  held  his  hand  still. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — don't  you  love  hymns?" 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  'em,  Miss  Ellen." 

"Mr.  Van  Brunt,  are  you  one  of  that  fold?" 

"What  fold?" 


216  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"The  fold  of  Christ's  people." 

"I'm  afeard  not,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  he  soberly,  after  a  minute's 
pause. 

"  Because,"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears,  "  I  wish  you  were, 
very  much." 

She  carried  the  great  brown  hand  to  her  lips  before  she  let  it 
go.  He  went  without  saying  a  word.  But  when  he  got  out  he 
stopped  and  looked  at  a  little  tear  she  had  left  on  the  back  of  it. 
And  he  looked  till  one  of  his  own  fell  there  to  keep  it  company. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

Oh,  that  had,  how  sad  a  passage  'tis ! 

SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  next  day,  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  a  light  step 
crossed  the  shed,  and  the  great  door  opening  gently,  in  walked 
Miss  Alice  Humphreys.  The  room  was  all  "  redd  up,"  and  Miss 
Fortune  and  her  mother  sat  there  at  work  ;  one  picking  over  white 
beans  at  the  table,  the  other  in  her  usual  seat  by  the  fire,  and  at 
her  usual  employment,  which  was  knitting.  Alice  came  forward, 
and  asked  the  old  lady  how  she  did. 

"Pretty  well — Oh,  pretty  well!"  she  answered,  with  the  look 
of  bland  good-humour  her  face  almost  always  wore, — "  and  glad 
to  see  you,  dear.  Take  a  chair." 

Alice  did  so,  quite  aware  that  the  other  person  in  the  room  was 
not  glad  to  see  her. 

"  And  how  goes  the  world  with  you,  Miss  Fortune  ?" 

"  Humph !  it's  a  queer  kind  of  world,  I  think,"  answered  that 
lady  dryly,  sweeping  some  of  the  picked  beans  into  her  pan ; — "  I 
get  a' most  sick  of  it  sometimes." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  said  Alice,  pleasantly;  "may  I 
ask?  Has  any  thing  happened  to  trouble  you?" 

"Oh,  no!"  said  the  other  somewhat  impatiently;  "nothing 
that's  any  matter  to  any  one  but  myself;  it's  no  use  speaking 
about  it." 

"Ah!  Fortune  never  would  take  the  world  easy,"  said  the  old 
woman,  shaking  her  head  from  side  to  side;  "never  would; — 
I  never  could  get  her." 

"  Now  do  hush,  mother,  will  you  !"  said  the  daughter,  turning 
round  upon  her  with  startling  sharpness  of  look  and  tone ; — 
"  '  take  the  world  easy  !'  you  always  did.  I  am  glad  I  ain't  like 
you." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  217 

"I  don't  think  it's  a  bad  way  after  all,"  said  Alice;  " what's 
the  use  of  taking  it  hard,  Miss  Fortune  ?' ' 

"The  way  one  goes  on!"  said  that  lady,  picking  away  at  her 
beans  very  fast  and  not  answering  Alice's  question, — "I'm  tired 
of  it ; — toil,  toil,  and  drive,  drive, — from  morning  to  night ;  and 
what's  the  end  of  it  all?" 

"Not  much,"  said  Alice  gravely,  "if  our  toiling  looks  no  fur 
ther  than  this  world.  When  we  go  we  shall  carry  nothing  away 
with  us.  I  should  think  it  would  be  very  wearisome  to  toil  only 
for  what  we  cannot  keep  nor  stay  long  to  enjoy." 

"It's  a  pity  you  warn't  a  minister,  Miss  Alice,"  said  Miss 
Fortune  dryly. 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss  Fortune,"  said  Alice  smiling,  "the  family  would 
be  overstocked.  My  father  is  one  and  my  brother  will  be  another ; 
a  third  would  be  too  much.  You  must  be  so  good  as  to  let  me 
preach  without  taking  orders." 

"  Well,  I  wish  every  minister  was  as  good  a  one  as  you'd  make," 
said  Miss  Fortune,  her  hard  face  giving  way  a  little ; — "  at  any 
rate  nobody 'd  mind  any  thing  you'd  say  Miss  Alice." 

"That  would  be  unlucky,  in  one  sense,"  said  Alice;  "but  I 
believe  I  know  what  you  mean.  But,  Miss  Fortune,  no  one  would 
dream  the  world  went  very  hard  with  you.  I  don't  know  any  body 
I  think  lives  in  more  independent  comfort  and  plenty,  and  has 
things  more  to  her  mind.  I  never  come  to  the  house  that  I  am 
not  struck  with  the  fine  look  of  the  farm  and  all  that  belongs  to 
it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  lady,  nodding  her  head  two  or  three  times, 
"  Mr.  Van  Brunt  is  a  good  farmer — very  good — there's  no  doubt 
about  that." 

"  I  wonder  what  he'd  do,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  quickly  and 
sharply  as  before,  "  if  there  warn't  a  head  to  manage  for  him  !  — 
Oh,  the  farm's  well  enough,  Miss  Alice, — tain't  that;  every  one 
knows  where  his  own  shoe  pinches." 

"  I  wish  you'd  let  me  into  the  secret  then,  Miss  Fortune ;  I'm  a 
cobbler  by  profession." 

Miss  Fortune's  ill-humour  was  giving  way,  but  something  dis 
agreeable  seemed  again  to  cross  her  mind.  Her  brow  darkened. 

"  I  say  it's  a  poor  kind  of  world  and  I'm  sick  of  it !  One  may 
slave  and  slave  one's  life  out  for  other  people,  and  what  thanks  do 
you  get? — I'm  sick  of  it." 

"There's  a  little  body  up-stairs,  or  I'm  much  mistaken,  who 
will  give  you  very  sincere  thanks  for  every  kindness  shown  her." 

Miss  Fortune  tossed  her  head,  and  brushing  the  refuse  beans 
into  her  lap,  she  pushed  back  her  chair  with  a  jerk  to  go  to  the 
fire  with  them. 

"  Much  you  know  about  her,  Miss  Alice  I  Thanks,  indeed  !  I 
K  19 


218  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

haven't  seen  the  sign  of  such  a  thing  since  she's  been  here,  for  all 
I  have  worked  and  worked  and  had  plague  enough  with  her  I  am 
sure.  Deliver  me  from  other  people's  children,  say  I !" 

"  After  all,  Miss  Fortune,"  said  Alice  soberly,  "  it  is  not  what 
we  do  for  people  that  makes  them  love  us, — or  at  least  every  thing 
depends  on  the  way  things  are  done.  A  look  of  love,  a  word  of 
kindness,  goes  further  toward  winning  the  heart  than  years  of  ser 
vice  or  benefactions  mountain-high  without  them." 

"  Does  she  say  I  am  unkind  to  her  ?"  asked  Miss  Fortune 
fiercely. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Alice,  "  words  on  her  part  are  unnecessary: 
it  is  easy  to  see  from  your  own  that  there  is  no  love  lost  between 
you,  and  I  am  very  sorry  it  is  so." 

"Love,  indeed!"  said  Miss  Fortune  with  great  indignation; 
"  there  never  was  any  to  lose  I  can  assure  you.  She  plagues  the 
very  life  out  of  me.  Why,  she  hadn't  been  here  three  days  before 
she  went  off  with  that  girl  Nancy  Vawse  that  I  had  told  her  never 
to  go  near,  and  was  gone  all  night;  that's  the  time  she  got  in  the 
brook.  Arid  if  you'd  seen  her  face  when  I  was  scolding  her  about 
it ! — it  was  like  seven  thunder  clouds.  Much  you  know  about  it ! 
I  dare  say  she's  very  sweet  to  you ;  that's  the  way  she  is  to  every 
body  beside  me — they  all  think  she's  too  good  to  live;  and  it  just 
makes  me  mad !" 

"  She  told  me  herself,"  said  Alice,  "  of  her  behaving  ill  another 
time,  about  her  mother's  letter." 

«  Yes — that  was  another  time.     I  wish  you'd  seen  her  1" 

"  I  believe  she  saw  and  felt  her  fault  in  that  case.  Didn't  she 
ask  your  pardon?  she  said  she  would." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Fortune  dryly,  "  after  a  fashion." 

"  Has  she  had  her  letter  yet  ?" 

"No." 

"  How  is  she  to-day  ?" 

"  Oh,  she's  well  enough— she's  sitting  up.  You  can  go  up  and 
see  her." 

"  I  will  directly,"  said  Alice.  "  But  now,  Miss  Fortune,  I  am 
going  to  ask  a  favour  of  you, — will  you  do  me  a  great  pleasure  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Miss  Alice, — if  I  can?" 

"  If  you  think  Ellen  has  been  sufficiently  punished  for  her  ill- 
behaviour — if  you  do  not  think  it  right  to  withhold  her  letter  still, 
— will  you  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  it  to  her  ?  I  should 
take  it  as  a  great  favour  to  myself." 

Miss  Fortune  made  no  kind  of  reply  to  this,  but  stalked  out  of 
the  room,  and  in  a  few  minutes  stalked  in  again  with  the  letter, 
which  she  gave  to  Alice,  only  saying  shortly,  "  It  came  to  me  in  a 
letter  from  her  father." 

"  You  are  willing  she  should  have  it?"  said  Alice. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  219 

"  Oh,  yes  ! — do  what  you  like  with  it." 

Alice  now  went  softly  up  stairs.  She  found  Ellen's  door  a  little 
ajar,  and  looking  in  could  see  Ellen  seated  in  a  rocking-chair  be 
tween  the  door  and  the  fire,  in  her  double-gown,  and  with  her  hymn- 
book  in  her  hand.  It  happened  that  Ellen  had  spent  a  good  part 
of  that  afternoon  in  crying  for  her  lost  letter ;  and  the  face  that 
she  turned  to  the  door  on  hearing  some  slight  noise  outside  was 
very  white  and  thin  indeed.  And  though  it  was  placid  too,  her 
eye  searched  the  crack  of  the  door  with  a  keen  wistfulness  that 
went  to  Alice's  heart.  But  as  the  door  was  gently  pushed  open, 
and  the  eye  caught  the  figure  that  stood  behind  it,  the  sudden  and 
entire  change  of  expression  took  away  all  her  powers  of  speech. 
Ellen's  face  became  radiant ;  she  rose  from  her  chair,  and  as  Alice 
came  silently  in  and  kneeling  down  to  be  near  her  took  her  in 
her  arms,  Ellen  put  both  hers  round  Alice's  neck  and  laid  her  face 
there ; — one  was  too  happy  and  the  other  too  touched  to  say  a 
word. 

"  My  poor  child  !"   was  Alice's  first  expression. 

"No  I  ain't,"  said  Ellen,  tightening  the  squeeze  of  her  arms 
round  Alice's  neck  ;  "  I  am  not  poor  at  all  now." 

Alice  presently  rose,  sat  down  in  the  rocking  chair  and  took 
Ellen  in  her  lap ;  and  Ellen  rested  her  head  on  her  bosom  as  she 
had  been  wont  to  do  of  old  time  on  her  mother's. 

"I  am  too  happy,"  she  murmured.  But  she  was  weeping,  and 
the  current  of  tears  seemed  to  gather  force  as  it  flowed.  What  was 
little  Ellen  thinking  of  just  then  ?  Oh,  those  times  gone  by  ! — 
when  she  had  sat  just  so;  her  head  pillowed  on  another  as  gentle 
a  breast;  kind  arms  wrapped  round  her,  just  as  now;  the  same 
little  old  double-gown  ;  the  same  weak  helpless  feeling ;  the  same 
committing  herself  to  the  strength  and  care  of  another  ; — how  much 
the  same,  and  oh  !  how  much  not  the  same  ! — and  Ellen  knew  both. 
Blessing  as  she  did  the  breast  on  which  she  leaned  and  the  arms 
whose  pressure  she  felt,  they  yet  reminded  her  sadly  of  those  most 
loved  and  so  very  far  away ;  and  it  was  an  odd  mixture  of  relief 
and  regret,  joy  and  sorrow,  gratified  and  ungratified  affection,  that 
opened  the  sluices  of  her  eyes.  Tears  poured. 

"What  is  the  matter,  my  love?"   said  Alice  softly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  whispered  Ellen. 

"  Are  you  so  glad  to  see  me?  or  so  sorry?  or  what  is  it?" 

"  Oh,  glad  and  sorry  both,  I  think,"  said  Ellen  with  a  long 
breath,  and  sitting  up. 

"  Have  you  wanted  me  so  much,  my  poor  child?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  much,"  said  Ellen,  her  words  cut 
short. 

"  And  didn't  you  know  that  I  have  been  sick  too?  What  did 
you  think  had  become  of  me  ?  Why,  Mrs.  Vawse  was  with  me  a 


220  THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD. 

whole  week,  and  this  is  the  very  first  day  I  have  been  able  to  go 
out.  It  is  so  fine  to-day  I  was  permitted  to  ride  Sharp  down." 

"  Was  that  it  ?"  said  Ellen.  "  I  did  wonder,  Miss  Alice,  I  did 
wonder  very  much  why  you  did  not  come  to  see  me-  but  I  never 
liked  to  ask  aunt  Fortune,  because " 

"  Because  what  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  say  what  I  was  going  to  ; — I  had  a 
feeling  she  would  be  glad  about  what  I  was  sorry  about." 

"  Don't  know  that  you  ought  to  say,"  said  Alice.  "  Remember, 
you  are  to  study  English  with  me." 

Ellen  smiled  a  glad  smile. 

"  And  you  have  had  a  weary  two  weeks  of  it,  haven't  you, 
dear?" 

"Oh,"  said  Ellen,  with  another  long-drawn  sigh,  "how  weary! 
Part  of  that  time,  to  be  sure,  I  was  out  of  my  head ;  but  I  have 
got  so  tired  lying  here  all  alone ;  aunt  Fortune  coming  in  and  out 
was  just  as  good  as  nobody." 

"  Poor  child  !"  said  Alice,  "  you  have  had  a  worse  time  than  I." 

"  I  used  to  lie  and  watch  that  crack  in  the  door  at  the  foot  of 
my  bed,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  I  got  so  tired  of  it  I  hated  to  see  it, 
but  when  I  opened  my  eyes  I  couldn't  help  looking  at  it,  and 
watching  all  the  little  ins  and  outs  in  the  crack  till  I  was  as  sick 
of  it  as  could  be.  And  that  button  too  that  fastens  the  door, 
and  the  little  round  mark  the  button  has  made,  and  thinking  how 
far  the  button  went  round.  And  then  if  I  looked  toward  the 
windows  I  would  go  right  to  counting  the  panes,  first  up  and  down 
and  then  across ;  and  I  didn't  want  to  count  them,  but  I  couldn't 
help  it ;  and  watching  to  see  through  which  pane  the  sky  looked 
brightest.  Oh,  I  got  so  sick  of  it  all !  There  was  only  the  fire 
that  I  didn't  get  tired  of  looking  at ;  I  always  liked  to  lie  and  look 
at  that,  except  when  it  hurt  my  eyes.  And  oh,  how  I  wanted  to 
see  you,  Miss  Alice  1  You  can't  think  how  sad  I  felt  that  you 
didn't  come  to  see  me.  I  couldn't  think  what  could  be  the 
matter." 

"I  should  have  been  with  you,  dear,  and  not  have  left  you,  if  I 
had  not  been  tied  at  home  myself." 

"So  I  thought;  and  that  made  it  seem  so  very  strange.  But 
Oh  !  don't  you  think,"  said  Ellen,  her  face  suddenly  brightening, 
— "  don't  you  think  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  up  to  see  me  last  night? 
Wasn't  it  good  of  him  ?  He  even  sat  down  and  read  to  me  ;  only 
think  of  that.  And  isn't  he  kind?  he  asked  if  I  would  like  a 
rocking-chair ;  and  of-  course  I  said  yes,  for  these  other  chairs  are 
dreadful,  they  break  my  back  ;  and  there  wasn't  such  a  thing  as  a 
rocking-chair  in  aunt  Fortune's  house,  she  hates  'em,  she  says ; 
and  this  morning,  the  first  thing;  I  knew,  in  walked  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
with  this  nice  rocking-chair.  Just  get  up  and  see  how  nice  it  is ; 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  221 

— you  see  the  back  is  cushioned,  and  the  elbows,  as  well  as  the 
seat;  —  it's  queer-looking,  ain't  it?  but  it's  very  comfortable. 
Wasn't  it  good  of  him?" 

"  It  was  very  kind,  I  think.  But  do  you  know,  Ellen,  I  am 
going  to  have  a  quarrel  with  you?" 

"What  about?"  said  Ellen.  "I  don't  believe  it's  anything 
very  bad,  for  you  look  pretty  good-humoured,  considering." 

"  Nothing  very  bad,"  said  Alice,  "but  still  enough  to  quarrel 
about.  You  have  twice  said  '  ain't*  since  I  have  been  here." 

"Oh,"  said  Ellen,  laughing,  "is  that  all?" 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  "  and  my  English  ears  don't  like  it  at  all." 

"Then  they  shan't  hear  it,"  said  Ellen,  kissing  her.  "I  don't 
know  what  makes  me  say  it ;  I  never  used  to.  But  I've  got  more 
to  tell  you;  I've  had  more  visitors.  Who  do  you  think  came  to 
see  me? — you'd  never  guess — Nancy  Vawse  ! — Mr.  Van  Brunt 
came  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  when  I  was  almost  worried  to  death 
with  her.  Only  think  of  Tier  coming  up  here  !  unknown  to  every 
body.  And  she  stayed  an  age,  and  how  she  did  go  on.  She 
cracked  nuts  on  the  hearth ; — she  got  every  stitch  of  my  clothes 
out  of  my  trunk  and  scattered  them  over  the  floor ; — she  tried  to 
make  me  drink  gruel  till  between  us  we  spilled  a  great  parcel  on 
the  bed ;  and  she  had  begun  to  tickle  me  when  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
came.  Oh,  wasn't  I  glad  to  see  him  !  And  when  aunt  Fortune 
came  up  and  saw  it  all  she  was  as  angry  as  she  could  be ;  and  she 
scolded  and  scolded,  till  at  last  I  told  her  it  was  none  of  my  doing, 
— I  couldn't  help  it  at  all, — and  she  needn't  talk  so  to  me  about 
it ;  and  then  she  said  it  was  my  fault  the  whole  of  it !  that  if  I 
hadn't  scraped  acquaintance  with  Nancy  when  she  had  forbidden 
me  all  this  would  never  have  happened." 

"  There  is  some  truth  in  that,  isn't  there,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  I  think  it  might  all  have  happened  whether 
or  no ;  and  at  any  rate  it  is  a  little  hard  to  talk  so  to  me  about  it 
now  when  it's  all  over  and  can't  be  helped.  Oh,  I  have  been  so 
tired  to-day,  Miss  Alice ! — aunt  Fortune  has  been  in  such  a  bad 
humour." 

"  What  put  her  in  a  bad  humour?" 

"  Why,  all  this  about  Nancy  in  the  first  place  ;  and  then  1 
know  she  didn't  like  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  bringing  the  rocking-chair 
for  me  ;  she  couldn't  say  much,  but  I  could  see  by  her  face.  And 
then  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  coming — I  don't  think  she  liked  that.  Oh, 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt  came  to  see  me  this  morning,  and  brought  me  a 
custard.  How  many  people  are  kind  to  me! — everywhere  I  go." 

"  I  hope,  dear  Ellen,  you  don't  forget  whose  kindness  sends 
them  all." 

"  I  don't,  Miss  Alice ;  I  always  think  of  that  now  ;  and  it  seems 
you  can't  think  how  pleasant  to  me  sometimes." 

19* 


222  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Then  I  hope  you  can  bear  unkindness  from  one  poor  woman, — 
who  after  all  isn't  as  happy  as  you  are, — without  feeling  any  ill-will 
toward  her  in  return." 

"  I  don't  think  I  feel  ill-will  toward  her,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  always 
try  as  hard  as  I  can  not  to ;  but  I  can't  like  her,  Miss  Alice ;  and 
I  do  get  out  of  patience.  It's  very  easy  to  put  me  out  of  patience, 
I  think  ;  it  takes  almost  nothing  sometimes." 

"  But  remember,  '  charity  suffereth  long  and  is  kind.'  " 

"  And  I  try  all  the  while,  dear  Miss  Alice,  to  keep  down  my  bad 
feelings,"  said  Ellen,  her  eyes  watering  as  she  spoke  ;  "  I  try  and 
pray  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  I  hope  I  shall  by  and  by ;  I  believe  I 
am  very  bad." 

Alice  drew  her  closer. 

"I  have  felt  very  sad  part  of  to-day,"  said  Ellen  presently; 
"  aunt  Fortune,  and  my  being  so  lonely,  and  my  poor  letter, 
altogether  ; — but  part  of  the  time  I  felt  a  great  deal  better.  I  was 
learning  that  lovely  hymn, — do  you  know  it,  Miss  Alice? — 'Poor, 
weak,  and  worthless,  though  I  am?' " 

Alice  went  on  : — 

"  I  have  a  rich  almighty  friend, 
Jesus  the  Saviour  is  his  name, 
He  freely  loves,  and  without  end." 

"  Oh,  dear  Ellen,  whoever  can  say  that,  has  no  right  to  be 
unhappy.  No  matter  what  happens,  we  have  enough  to  be  glad 
of." 

"And  then  I  was  thinking  of  those  words  in  the  Psalms, — 
'  Blessed  is  the  man' — stop,  I'll  find  it;  I  don't  know  exactly  how 
it  goes  ; — '  Blessed  is  he  whose  transgression  is  forgiven ;  whose  sin 
is  covered.'  " 

"  Oh,  yes  indeed  !"  said  Alice.  "  It  is  a  shame  that  any  trifles 
should  worry  much  those  whose  sins  are  forgiven  them  and  who  are 
the  children  of  the  great  King.  Poor  Miss  Fortune  never  knew 
the  sweetness  of  those  words.  We  ought  to  be  sorry  for  her,  and 
pray  for  her,  Ellen  ;  and  never,  never,  even  in  thought,  return  evil 
for  evil.  It  is  not  like  Christ  to  do  so." 

"  I  will  not,  I  will  not,  if  I  can  help  it,""  said  Ellen. 

"  You  can  help  it ;  but  there  is  only  one  way.  Now,  Ellen  dear, 
I  have  three  pieces  of  news  for  you  that  I  think  you  will  like. 
One  concerns  you,  another  myself,  and  the  third  concerns  both  you 
and  myself.  Which  will  you  have  first?" 

"  Three  pieces  of  good  news  !"  said  Ellen  with  opening  eyes  ; — 
"  I  think  I'll  have  my  part  first." 

Directing  Ellen's  eyes  to  her  pocket,  Alice  slowly  made  the  corner 
of  the  letter  show  itself.  Ellen's  colour  came  and  went  quick  as 
it  was  drawn  forth ;  but  when  it  was  fairly  out  and  she  knew  it 
again,  she  flung  herself  upon  it  with  a  desperate  eagerness  Alice 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  223 

had  not  looked  for ;  she  was  startled  at  the  half  frantic  way  in 
which  the  child  clasped  and  kissed  it,  weeping  bitterly  at  the  same 
time.  Her  transport  was  almost  hysterical.  She  had  opened  the 
letter,  but  she  was  riot  able  to  read  a  word;  and  quitting  Alice's 
arms  she  threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  sobbing  in  a  mixture  of  joy 
and  sorrow  that  seemed  to  take  away  her  reason.  Alice  looked  on 
surprised  a  moment,  but  only  a  moment,  and  turned  away. 

When  Ellen  was  able  to  begin  her  letter  the  reading  of  it  served 
to  throw  her  back  into  fresh  fits  of  tears.  Many  a  word  of  Mrs. 
Montgomery's  went  so  to  her  little  daughter's  heart  that  its  very 
inmost  cords  of  love  and  tenderness  were  wrung.  It  is  true  the 
letter  was  short  and  very  simple ;  but  it  came  from  her  mother's 
heart;  it  was  written  by  her  mother's  hand;  and  the  very  old 
remembered  handwriting  had  mighty  power  to  move  her.  She  was 
so  wrapped  up  in  her  own  feelings  that  through  it  all  she  never 
noticed  that  Alice  was  not  near  her,  that  Alice  did  not  speak  to 
comfort  her.  When  the  letter  had  been  read  time  after  time,  and 
wept  over  again  and  again,  and  Ellen  at  last  was  folding  it  up  for 
the  present,  she  bethought  herself  of  her  friend  and  turned  to  look 
after  her.  Alice  was  sitting  by  the  window,  her  face  hid  in  her 
hands,  and  as  Ellen  drew  near  she  was  surprised  to  see  that  her 
tears  were  flowing  and  her  breast  heaving.  Ellen  came  quite 
close,  and  softly  laid  her  hand  on  Alice's  shoulder.  But  it  drew  no 
attention. 

"  Miss  Alice,"  said  Ellen  almost  fearfully,—"  dear  Miss  Alice," 
— and  her  own  eyes  filled  fast  again,  "  what  is  the  matter? — won't 
you  tell  me?— Oh,  don't  do  so  !  please  don't !" 

"I  will  not,"  said  Alice  lifting  her  head;  "I  am  sorry  I  have 
troubled  you  dear ;  I  am  sorry  I  could  not  help  it." 

She  kissed  Ellen,  who  stood  anxious  and  sorrowful  by  her  side, 
and  brushed  away  her  tears.  But  Ellen  saw  she  had  been  shed 
ding  a  great  many. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Miss  Alice  ?  what  has  happened  to 
trouble  you? — won't  you  tell  me  ?" — Ellen  was  almost  crying  her 
self. 

Alice  came  back  to  the  rocking-chair,  and  took  Ellen  in  her  arms 
again  ^;  but  she  did  not  answer  her.  Leaning  her  face  against 
Ellen's  forehead  she  remained  silent.  Ellen  ventured  to  ask  no 
more  ^questions;  but  lifting  her  hand  once  or  twice  caressingly  to 
Alice's  face  she  was  distressed  to  find  her  cheek  wet  still.  Alice 
spoke  at  last. 

"  It  isn't  fair  not  to  tell  you  what  is  the  matter,  dear  Ellen,  since 
I  have  let  you  see  me  sorrowing.  It  is  nothing  new,  nor  anything 
I  would  have  otherwise  if  I  could.  It  is  only  that  I  have  had  a 
mother  once,  and  have  lost  her;  and  you  brought  back  the  old 
time  so  strongly  that  I  could  not  command  myself." 


224  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  felt  a  hot  tear  drop  upon  her  forehead,  and  again  ventured 
to  speak  her  sympathy  only  by  silently  stroking  Alice's  cheek. 

"It  is  all  past  now,"  said  Alice;  "it  is  all  well.  I  would  not 
have  her  back  again.  I  shall  go  to  her  I  hope  by  and  by." 

"  Oh,  no!  you  must  stay  with  me,"  said  Ellen,  clasping  both 
arms  round  her. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  they  remained  locked  in 
each  other's  arms. 

"  Ellen  dear,"  said  Alice  at  length,  "  we  are  both  motherless,  for 
the  present  at  least, — both  of  us  almost  alone ;  I  think  God  has 
brought  us  together  to  be  a  comfort  to  each  other.  We  will  be 
sisters  while  he  permits  us  to  be  so.  Don't  call  me  Miss  Alice  any 
more.  You  shall  be  my  little  sister  and  I  will  be  your  elder  sister, 
and  my  home  shall  be  your  home  as  well." 

Ellen's  arms  were  drawn  very  close  round  her  companion  at  this, 
but  she  said  nothing,  and  her  face  was  laid  in  Alice's  bosom. 
There  was  another  very  long  pause.  Then  Alice  spoke  in  a  livelier 
tone. 

"  Come,  Ellen  !  look  up  !  you  and  I  have  forgotten  ourselves  ;  it 
isn't  good  for  sick  people  to  get  down  in  the  dumps.    Look  up  and 
let  me  see  these  pale  cheeks.     Don't  you  want  something  to  eat?" 
"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  faintly. 
"  What  would  you  say  to  a  cup  of  chicken  broth  ?" 
"  Oh,  I  should  like  it  very  much  !"  said  Ellen  with  new  energy. 
"  Margery  made  me  some  particularly  nice,  as  she  always  does ; 
and  I  took  it  into  my  head  a  little  might  not  come  amiss  to  you ; 
so  I  resolved  to  stand  the  chance  of  Sharp's  jolting  it  all  over  me, 
and  I  rode  down  with  a  little  pail  of  it  on  my  arm.     Let  me  rake 
open  these  coals  and  you  shall  have  some  directly." 

"  And  did  you  come  without  being  spattered  ?"  said  Ellen. 
"  Not  a  drop.     Is  this  what  you  use  to  warm  things  in  ?    Never 
mind,  it  has  had  gruel  in  it ;  I'll  set  the  tin  pail  on  the  fire  ;  it 
won't  hurt  it." 

"  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Ellen,  "  for  do  you  know 
I  have  got  quite  tired  of  gruel,  and  panada  I  can't  bear." 
"  Then  I  am  very  glad  I  brought  it." 

While  it  was  warming  Alice  washed  Ellen's  gruel  cup  and  spoon  ; 
and  presently  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Ellen  eating  the 
broth  with  that  keen  enjoyment  none  know  but  those  that  have 
been  sick  and  are  getting  well.  She  smiled  to  see  her  gaining 
strength  almost  in  the  very  act  of  swallowing. 

"Ellen,"  said  she  presently,  "I  have  been  considering  your 
dressing-table.  It  looks  rather  doleful.  I'll  make  you  a  present 
of  some  dimity,  and  when  you  come  to  see  me  you  shall  make  a 
cover  for  it  that  will  reach  down  to  the  floor  and  hide  those  long 
legs." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  225 

"  That  wouldn't  do  at  all,"  said  Ellen ;  "  aunt  Fortune  would  go 
off  into  all  sorts  of  fits." 

"What  about?" 

"Why  the  washing,  Miss  Alice — to  have  such  a  great  thing  to 
wash  every  now  and  then.  You  can't  think  what  a  fuss  she  makes 
if  I  have  more  than  just  so  many  white  clothes  in  the  wash  every 
week." 

"  That's  too  bad,"  said  Alice.  "  Suppose  you  bring  it  up  to  me 
— it  wouldn't  be  often — and  I'll  have  it  washed  for  you, — if  you 
care  enough  about  it  to  take  the  trouble." 

"Oh,  indeed  I  do!"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  should  like  it  very  much, 
and  I'll  get  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to — no  I  can't,  aunt  Fortune  won't 
let  me  ;  I  was  going  to  say  I  would  get  him  to  saw  off  the  legs 
and  make  it  lower  for  me,  and  then  my  dressing-box  would  stand 
so  nicely  on  the  top.  Maybe  I  can  yet.  Oh,  I  never  showed  you 
my  boxes  and  things." 

Ellen  brought  them  all  out  and  displayed  their  beauties.  In 
the  course  of  going  over  the  writing-desk  she  came  to  the  secret 
drawer  and  a  little  money  in  it. 

"  Oh,  that  puts  me  in  mind !"  she  said.  "  Miss  Alice,  this 
money  is  to  be  spent  for  some  poor  child; — now  I've  been  think 
ing  Nancy  has  behaved  so  to  me  I  should  like  to  give  her  some 
thing  to  show  her  that  I  don't  feel  unkindly  about  it — what  do 
you  think  will  be  a  good  thing?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Ellen — I'll  take  the  matter  into  consideration." 

"  Do  you  think  a  Bible  would  do?" 

"Perhaps  that  would  do  as  well  as  any  thing; — I'll  think 
about  it." 

"I  should  like  to  do  it  very  much,"  said  Ellen,  "for  she  has 
vexed  me  wonderfully." 

"  Well,  Ellen,  would  you  like  to  hear  my  other  pieces  of  news? 
or  have  you  no  curiosity  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  said  Ellen;  "I  had  forgotten  it  entirely; 
what  is  it,  Miss  Alice  ?" 

"  You  know  I  told  you  one  concerns  only  myself,  but  it  is  great 
news  to  me.  I  learnt  this  morning  that  my  brother  will  come  to 
spend  the  holidays  with  me.  It  is  many  months  since  I  have  seen 
him." 

"  Does  he  live  far  away?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes, — he  has  gone  far  away  to  pursue  his  studies,  and  cannot 
come  home  often.  The  other  piece  of  news  is  that  I  intend,  if 
you  have  no  objection,  to  ask  Miss  Fortune's  leave  to  have  you 
spend  the  holidays  with  me  too." 

"Oh,  delightful  !"  said  Ellen,  starting  up  and  clapping  her  hands, 
and  then  throwing  them  round  her  adopted  sister's  neck; — "dear 
Alice,  how  good  you  are  1" 

f 


226  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Then  I  suppose  I  may  reckon  upon  your  consent,"  said  Alice, 
"and  I'll  speak  to  Miss  Fortune  without  delay." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  dear  Miss  Alice ; — how  glad  I  am  !  I  shall  be 
happy  all  the  time  from  now  till  then  thinking  of  .it.  You  aren't 
going?" 

"I  must." 

"Ah,  don't  go  yet!  Sit  down  again;  you  know  you're  my 
sister, — don't  you  want  to  read  mamma's  letter?" 

"  If  you  please,  Ellen,  I  should  like  it  very  much.'1 

She  sat  down,  and  Ellen  gave  her  the  letter,  and  stood  by  while 
she  read  it,  watching  her  with  glistening  eyes ;  and  though  as  she 
saw  Alice's  fill  her  own  overflowed  again,  she  hung  over  her  still 
to  the  last ;  going  over  every  line  this  time  with  a  new  pleasure. 

"  New  York,  Saturday,  Nov.  22,  18 — . 
"  MY  DEAR  ELLEN, 

"  I  meant  to  have  written  to  you  before,  but  have  been  scarcely 
able  to  do  so.  I  did  make  one  or  two  efforts  which  came  to 
nothing ;  I  was  obliged  to  give  it  up  before  finishing  any  thing 
that  could  be  called  a  letter.  To-day  I  feel  much  stronger  than  I 
have  at  any  time  since  your  departure. 

"  I  have  missed  you,  my  dear  child,  very  much.  There  is  not 
an  hour  in  the  day,  nor  a  half  hour,  that  the  want  of  you  does 
not  come  home  to  my  heart ;  and  I  think  I  have  missed  you  in 
my  very  dreams.  This  separation  is  a  very  hard  thing  to  bear. 
But  the  hand  that  has  arranged  it  does  nothing  amiss ;  we  must 
trust  Him,  my  daughter,  that  all  will  be  well.  I  feel  it  is  well ; 
though  sometimes  the  thought  of  your  dear  little  face  is  almost 
too  much  for  me.  I  will  thank  God  I  have  had  such  a  blessing  so 
long,  and  I  now  commit  my  treasure  to  Him.  It  is  an  unspeak 
able  comfort  to  me  to  do  this,  for  nothing  committed  to  his  care  is 
ever  forgotten  or  neglected.  Oh,  my  daughter,  never  forget  to 
pray ;  never  slight  it.  It  is  almost  my  only  refuge,  now  I  have 
lost  you,  and  it  bears  me  up.  How  often— how  often,— through 
years  gone  by, — when  heart-sick  and  faint, — I  have  fallen  on  my 
knees,  and  presently  there  have  been  as  it  were  drops  of  cool  water 
sprinkled  upon  my  spirit's  fever.  Learn  to  love  prayer,  dear 
Ellen,  and  then  you  will  have  a  cure  for  all  the  sorrows  of  life. 
And  keep  this  letter,  that  if  ever  you  are  like  to  forget  it,  your 
mother's  testimony  may  come  to  mind  again. 

"  My  tea,  that  used  to  be  so  pleasant,  has  become  a  sad  meal  to 
me.  I  drink  it  mechanically  and  set  down  my  cup,  remembering 
only  that  the  dear  little  hand  which  used  to  minister  to  my  wants 
is  near  me  no  more.  My  child— my  child !— words  are  poor  to  ex 
press  the  heart's  yearnings, — my  spirit  is  near  you  all  the  time. 

"  Your  old  gentleman  has  paid  me  several  visits.    The  day  after 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  227 

you  went  came  some  beautiful  pigeons.  I  sent  word  back  that  you 
were  no  longer  here  to  enjoy  his  gifts,  and  the  next  day  he  came 
to  see  me.  He  has  shown  himself  very  kind.  And  all  this,  dear 
Ellen,  had  for  its  immediate  cause  your  proper  and  ladylike  be 
haviour  in  the  store.  That  thought  has  been  sweeter  to  me  than 
all  the  old  gentleman's  birds  and  fruit.  I  am  sorry  to  inform  you 
that  though  I  have  seen  him  so  many  times  I  am  still  perfectly 
ignorant  of  his  name. 

"  We  set  sail  Monday  in  the  England.  Your  father  has  secured 
a  nice  state-room  for  me,  and  I  have  a  store  of  comforts  laid  up 
for  the  voyage.  So  next  week  you  may  imagine  me  out  on  the 
broad  ocean,  with  nothing  but  sky  and  clouds  and  water  to  be  seen 
around  me,  and  probably  much  too  sick  to  look  at  those.  Never 
mind  that ;  the  sickness  is  good  for  me. 

"  I  will  write  you  as  soon  as  I  can  again,  and  send  by  the  first 
conveyance. 

"  And  now  my  dear  baby — my  precious  child — farewell.  May 
the  blessing  of  God  be  with  you  ! 

"  Your  affectionate  mother, 

"  E.  MONTGOMERY." 

"  You  ought  to  be  a  good  child,  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  as  she  dashed 
away  some  tears.  "  Thank  you  for  letting  me  see  this ;  it  has  been 
a  great  pleasure  to  me." 

"And  now,"  said  Ellen,  "you  feel  as  if  you  knew  mamma  a 
little." 

"  Enough  to  honour  and  respect  her  very  much.  Now  good-by, 
my  love ;  I  must  be  at  home  before  it  is  late.  1  will  see  you  again 
before  Christmas  comes." 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

When  icicles  bang  by  the  wall, 
And  Dick  the  shepherd  blows  his  nail, 
And  Tom  bears  logs  into  the  hall, 
And  milk  comes  frozen  home  in  pail. 

SHAKSPEARK. 

To  Ellen's  sorrow  she  was  pronounced  next  morning  well  enough 
to  come  down  stairs  j  her  aunt  averring  that  "  it  was  no  use  to  keep 
a  fire  burning  up  there  for  nothing."  She  must  get  up  and  dress 
in  the  cold  again ;  and  winter  had  fairly  set  in  now;  the  19th  of 
December  rose  clear  and  keen.  Ellen  looked  sighingly  at  the  heap 
of  ashes  and  the  dead  brands  in  the  fireplace  where  the  bright  little 


228  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

fire  had  blazed  so  cheerfully  the  evening  before.  But  regrets  did 
not  help  the  matter ;  and  shivering  she  began  to  dress  as  fast  as 
she  could.  Since  her  illness  a  basin  and  pitcher  had  been  brought 
into  her  room,  so  the  washing  at  the  spout  was  ended  for  the  pres 
ent  ;  and  though  the  basin  had  no  place  but  a  chair,  and  the  pitcher 
must  stand  on  the  floor,  Ellen  thought  herself  too  happy.  But 
how  cold  it  was !  The  wind  swept  past  her  windows,  giving  wintry 
shakes  to  the  panes  of  glass,  and  through  many  an  opening  in  the 
wooden  frame- work  of  the  house  it  came  in  and  saluted  Ellen's  bare 
arms  and  neck.  She  hurried  to  finish  her  dressing,  and  wrapping 
her  double-gown  over  all,  went  down  to  the  kitchen.  It  was  an 
other  climate  there.  A  great  fire  was  burning  that  it  quite  cheered 
Ellen's  heart  to  look  at;  and  the  air  seemed  to  be  full  of  coffee  and 
buckwheat  cakes;  Ellen  almost  thought  she  should  get  enough 
breakfast  by  the  sense  of  smell. 

"  Ah  1  here  you  are,"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "  What  have  you  got 
that  thing  on  for  ?" 

"  It  was  so  cold  up  stairs/'  said  Ellen,  drawing  up  her  shoulders. 
The  warmth  had  not  got  inside  of  her  wrapper  yet. 

"Well,  'tain't  cold  here;  you'd  better  pull  it  off  right  away. 
I've  no  notion  of  people's  making  themselves  tender.  You'll  be 
warm  enough  directly.  Breakfast  '11  warm  you." 

Ellen  felt  almost  inclined  to  quarrel  with  the  breakfast  that  was 
offered  in  exchange  for  her  comfortable  wrapper ;  she  pulled  it  off 
however  and  sat  down  without  saying  any  thing.  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
put  some  cakes  on  her  plate. 

**  If  breakfast's  a  going  to  warm  you,"  said  he,  "  make  haste 
and  get  something  down ;  or  drink  a  cup  of  coffee ;  you're  as  blue 
as  skim  milk." 

"Am  I?"  said  Ellen  laughing;  « I  feel  blue;  but  I  can't  eat 
such,  a  pile  of  cakes  as  that,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

As  a  general  thing  the  meals  at  Miss  Fortune's  were  silent  so 
lemnities  ;  an  occasional  consultation,  or  a  few  questions  and  remarks 
about  farm  affairs,  being  all  that  ever  passed.  The  breakfast  this 
morning  was  a  singular  exception  to  the  common  rule. 

"  I  am  in  a  regular  quandary,"  said  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
when  the  meal  was  about  half  over. 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  up  for  an  instant,  and  asked  "  what 
about?" 

"  Why,  how  1  am  ever  going  to  do  to  get  those  apples  and 
sausage-meat  done.  If  I  go  to  doing  'em  myself  I  shall  about  get 
through  by  spring." 

"  Why  don't  you  make  a  bee?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  Ain't  enough  of  either  on  *em  to  make  it  worth  while.  I  ain't 
a  going  to  have  all  the  bother  of  a  bee  without  some  thing  to  show 
for't." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  229 

both  into  one,"  suggested  her  counsellor,  going  on 
with  his  breakfast. 

"Both?" 

"  Yes — let  'em  pare  apples  in  one  room  and  cut  pork  in  t'other." 

"But  I  wonder  who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  before,"  said 
Miss  Fortune,  pausing  with  her  cup  of  coffee  half  way  to  her  lips. 
Presently,  however,  it  was  carried  to  her  mouth,  drunk  off,  and  set 
down  with  an  air  of  determination. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  she,  "if  it  never  was  heard  of.  I'll  do  it 
for  once  anyhow.  I'm  not  one  of  them  to  care  what  folks  say. 
I'll  have  it  so  !  But  I  won't  have  'em  to  tea,  mind  you  ;  I'd  rather 
throw  apples  and  all  into  the  fire  at  once.  I'll  have  but  one  plague 
of  setting  tables,  and  that  I  won't  have  'em  to  tea.  I'll  make  it 
up  to  'em  in  the  supper  though." 

"  I'll  take  care  to  publish  that,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  Don't  you  go  and  do  such  a  thing,"  said  Miss  Fortune  earnestly. 
"  I  shall  have  the  whole  country  on  my  hands.  I  won't  have  but 
just  as  many  on  'em  as' 11  do  what  I  want  done  ;  that'll  be  as  much 
as  I  can  stand  under.  Don't  you  whisper  a  word  of  it  to  a  living 
creature.  I'll  go  round  and  ask  'em  myself  to  come  Monday  even 
ing." 

"Monday  evening — then  I  suppose  you'd  like  to  have  up  the 
sleigh  this  afternoon.  Who's  a-coming?" 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  ha'n't  asked  'em  yet." 

"They'll  every  soul  come  that's  asked,  that  you  may  depend; 
there  ain't  one  on  'em  that  would  miss  of  it  for  a  dollar." 

Miss  Fortune  bridled  a  little  at  the  implied  tribute  to  her  house 
keeping. 

"  If  I  was  some  folks  I  wouldn't  let  people  know  I  was  in  such 
a  mighty  hurry  to  get  a  good  supper,"  she  observed  rather  scorn 
fully. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  "  I  think  a  good  supper  ain't 
a  bad  thing ;  and  I've  no  objection  to  folk's  knowing  it." 

"  Pshaw  !  I  didn't  mean  you"  said  Miss  Fortune  ;  "  I  was  think 
ing  of  those  Lawsons,  and  other  folks." 

"If  you're  a  going  to  ask  them  to  your  bee  you  ain't  of  my 
mind."' 

"Well,  I  am  though,"  replied  Miss  Fortune;  "  there's  a  good 
many  hands  of  'em  ;  they  can  turn  off  a  good  lot  of  work  in  an 
evening ;  and  they  always  take  care  to  get  me  to  their  bees.  I 
may  as  well  get  something  out  of  them  in  return  if  I  can." 

"  They'll  reckon  on  getting  as  much  as  they  can  out  o'  you,  if 
they  come,  there's  no  sort  of  doubt  in  my  mind.  It's  my  belief 
Mirny  Lawson  will  kill  herself  some  of  these  days  upon  green  corn. 
She  was  at  home  to  tea  one  day  last  summer,  and  I  declare  I 

thought " 

20 


230  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

What  Mr.  Van  Brunt  thought  he  left  his  hearers  to  guess. 

"Well,  let  them  kill  themselves  if  they  like,"  said  Miss  For 
tune  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  am  willing  ;  there'll  be  enough  ;  I  ain't  a  going 
to  mince  matters  when  once  I  begin.  Now,  let  me  see.  There's 
five  of  the  Lawsons  to  begin  with — I  suppose  they'll  all  come; — 
Bill  Huff,  and  Jany,  that's  seven  ; — " 

"  That  Bill  Huff  is  as  good-natured  a  fellow  as  ever  broke 
ground,"  remarked  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "Ain't  better  people  in  the 
town  than  them  Huffs  are." 

"They're  well  enough,"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "Seven — and  the 
Hitchcocks,  there's  three  of  them,  that'll  make  ten, — " 

"  Dennison's  ain't  far  from  there,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "  Dan 
Dennison's  a  fine  hand  at  a' most  any  thing,  in  doors  or  out." 

"  That's  more  than  you  can  say  for  his  sister.  Cilly  Dennison 
gives  herself  so  many  airs  it's  altogether  too  much  for  plain 
country  folks.  I  should  like  to  know  what  she  thinks  herself. 
It's  a' most  too  much  for  my  stomach  to  see  her  flourishing  that 
watch  and  chain." 

"What's  the  use  of  troubling  yourself  about  other  people's 
notions?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "If  folks  want  to  take  the  road 
let'em  have  it.  That's  my  way.  I  am  satisfied,  provided  they 
don't  run  me  over." 

"'Tain't  my  way,  then,  I'd  have  you  to  know,"  said  Miss  For 
tune  ;  "  I  despise  it !  And  'tain't  your  way  neither,  Van  Brunt ; 
what  did  you  give  Tom  Larkens  a  cowhiding  for  ?" 

"'Cause  he  deserved  it,  if  ever  a  man  did,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,  quite  rousing  up  ; — "  he  was  treating  that  little  brother  of 
his'n  in  a  way  a  boy  shouldn't  be  treated,  and  I  am  glad  I  did  it. 
I  gave  him  notice  to  quit  before  I  laid  a  finger  on  him.  He  warn't 
doing  nothing  to  me." 

"And  how  much  good  do  you  suppose  it  did?"  said  Miss 
Fortune  rather  scornfully. 

"It did  just  the  good  I  wanted  to  do.  He  has  seen  fit  to  let 
little  Billy  alone  ever  since." 

"  Well,  I  guess  I'll  let  the  Dennisons  come,"  said  Miss  Fortune  ; 
"  that  makes  twelve,  and  you  and  your  mother  are  fourteen.  I 
suppose  that  man  Marshchalk  will  come  dangling  along  after  the 
Hitchcocks." 

"  To  be  sure  he  will ;  and  his  aunt,  Miss  Janet,  will  come  with 
him  most  likely." 

"Well — there's  no  help  for  it,"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "That 
makes  sixteen." 

"Will  you  ask  Miss  Alice?" 

"  Not  I !  she's  another  of  your  proud  set.  I  don't  want  to  see 
any  body  that  thinks  she's  going  to  do  me  a  great  favour  by 
coming." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  231 

Ellen's  lips  opened,  but  wisdom  came  in  time  to  stop  the  words 
that  were  on  her  tongue.  It  did  not,  however,  prevent  the  quick 
little  turn  of  her  head  which  showed  what  she  thought,  and  the 
pale  cheeks  were  for  a  moment  bright  enough. 

"  She  is,  and  I  don't  care  who  hears  it,"  repeated  Miss  Fortune. 
"  I  suppose  she'd  look  as  sober  as  a  judge  too  if  she  saw  cider  on 
the  table ;  they  say  she  won't  touch  a  drop  ever,  and  thinks  it's 
wicked  ;  and  if  that  ain't  setting  oneself  up  for  better  than  other 
folks  I  don't  know  what  is." 

"  I  saw  her  paring  apples  at  the  Huffs  though,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,  "  and  as  pleasant  as  any  body  j  but  she  didn't  stay  to 
supper." 

"I'd  ask  Mrs.  Yawse  if  I  could  get  word  to  her,"  said  Miss 
Fortune, — "but  I  can  never  travel  up  that  mountain.  If  I  get  a 
sight  of  Nancy  I'll  tell  her." 

"There  she  is,  then,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  looking  toward  the 
little  window  that  opened  into  the  shed.  And  there  indeed  was 
the  face  of  Miss  Nancy  pressed  flat  against  the  glass,  peering  into 
the  room.  Miss  Fortune  beckoned  to  her. 

"  That  is  the  most  impudent,  shameless,  outrageous  piece  of 

What  were  you  doing  at  the  window?"  said  she  as  Nancy  came 
in. 

"Looking  at  you,  Miss  Fortune,"  said  Nancy  coolly.  "What 
have  you  been  talking  about  this  great  while  ?  If  there  had  only 
been  a  pane  of  glass  broken  I  needn't  have  asked." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  and  listen  to  me." 

"I'll  listen,  ma'am,"  said  Nancy,  "but  it's  of  no  use  to  hold 
my  tongue.  I  do  try,  sometimes,  but  I  never  could  keep  it  long." 

"  Have  you  done?" 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Nancy,  shaking  her  head;  "it's 
just  as  it  happens." 

"  You  tell  your  granny  I  am  going  to  have  a  bee  here  next 
Monday  evening,  and  ask  her  if  she'll  come  to  it." 

Nancy  nodded.     "  If  it's  good  weather,"  she  added  conditionally. 

"Stop,  Nancy!"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "here!" — for  Nancy  was 
shutting  the  door  behind  her. — "  As  sure  as  you  come  here  Monday 
night  without  your  grandma  you'll  go  out  of  the  house  quicker 
than  you  come  in ;  see  if  you  don't !" 

With  another  gracious  nod  and  smile  Nancy  departed. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Yan  Brunt,  rising,  "  I'll  despatch  this  business 
down  stairs,  and  then  I'll  bring  up  the  sleigh.  The  pickle's  ready 
I  suppose." 

"  No  it  ain't,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  I  couldn't  make  it  yesterday  ; 
but  it's  all  in  the  kettle,  and  I  told  Sam  to  make  a  fire  down  stairs, 
so  you  can  put  it  on  when  you  go  down.  The  kits  are  all  ready, 
and  the  salt  and  every  thing  else." 


232  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  went  down  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  lower  kitchen  ; 
and  Miss  Fortune,  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  set  about  her  morning's 
work  with  even  an  uncommon  measure  of  activity.  Ellen,  in  con 
sideration  of  her  being  still  weak,  was  not  required  to  do  any  thing. 
She  sat  and  looked  on,  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  her  bustling 
aunt  as  far  as  it  was  possible  ;  but  Miss  Fortune's  gyrations  were 
of  that  character  that  no  one  could  tell  five  minutes  beforehand 
what  she  might  consider  "  in  the  way."  Ellen  wished  for  her  quiet 
room  again.  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  voice  sounded  down  stairs  in  tones 
of  business ;  what  could  he  be  about  ?  it  must  be  very  uncommon 
business  that  kept  him  in  the  house.  Ellen  grew  restless  with  the 
desire  to  go  and  see,  and  to  change  her  aunt's  company  for  his; 
and  no  sooner  was  Miss  Fortune  fairly  shut  up  in  the  buttery  at 
some  secret  work  than  Ellen  gently  opened  the  door  at  the  head  of 
the  lower  stairs  and  looked  down.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  standing  at 
the  bottom  and  he  looked  up. 

"  May  I  come  down  there,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?"  said  Ellen  softly. 

"  Come  down  here  ?  to  be  sure  you  may !  You  may  always 
come  straight  where  I  am  without  asking  any  questions." 

Ellen  went  down.  But  before  she  reached  the  bottom  stair  she 
stopped  with  almost  a  start,  and  stood  fixed  with  such  a  horrified 
face  that  neither  Mr.  Van  Brunt  nor  Sam  Larkens,  who  was  there, 
could  help  laughing. 

"  What's  the  matter?"  said  the  former, — "they're  all  dead 
enough,  Miss  Ellen  ;  you  needn't  be  scared." 

Three  e*normous  hogs  which  had  been  killed  the  day  before  greeted 
Ellen's  eyes.  They  lay  in  different  parts  of  the  room,  with  each  a 
cob  in  his  mouth.  A  fourth  lay  stretched  upon  his  back  on  the 
kitchen  table,  which  was  drawn  out  into  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
Ellen  stood  fast  on  the  stair. 

"  Have  they  been  killed  !"  was  her  first  astonished  exclamation, 
to  which  Sam  responded  with  another  burst. 

"  Be  quiet,  Sam  Larkens  !"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "  Yes,  Miss 
Ellen,  they've  been  killed  sure  enough." 

"  Are  these  the  same  pigs  I  used  to  see  you  feeding  with  corn, 
Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  The  identical  same  ones,"  replied  that  gentleman,  as  laying 
hold  of  the  head  of  the  one  on  the  table  and  applying  his  long 
sharp  knife  with  the  other  hand,  he  while  he  was  speaking  severed 
it  neatly  and  quickly  from  the  trunk.  "  And  very  fine  porkers  they 
are  ;  I  ain't  ashamed  of  *em." 

"  And  what's  going  to  be  done  with  them  now?"   said  Ellen. 

"  I  am  just  going  to  cut  them  up  and  lay  them  down.  Bless  my 
heart!  you  never  see  nothing  of  the  kind  before,  did  you?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  l  laying  them  down,' 
Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  233 

"Why,  laying  'em  down  in  salt  for  pork  and  hams.  You  want 
to  see  the  whole  operation,  don't  you  ?  Well,  here's  a  seat  for  you. 
You'd  better  fetch  that  painted  coat  o'  yourn  and  wrap  round  you, 
for  it  ain'  t  quite  so  warm  here  as  up  stairs  ;  but  it' s  getting  warmer. 
Sam,  just  you  shut  that  door  to,  and  throw  on  another  log." 

Sam  built  up  as  large  a  fire  as  could  be  made  under  a  very  large 
kettle  that  hung  in  the  chimney.  When  Ellen  came  down  in  her 
wrapper  she  was  established  close  in  the  chimney  corner  ;  and  when 
Mr.  Van  Brunt,  not  thinking  her  quite  safe  from  the  keen  currents 
of  air  that  would  find  their  way  into  the  room,  despatched  Sam  for 
an  old  buffalo  robe  that  lay  in  the  shed.  This  he  himself  with 
great  care  wrapped  round  her,  feet  and  chair  and  all,  and  secured 
it  in  various  places  with  old  forks.  He  declared  then  she  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  an  Indian,  except  her  face,  and  in  high  good- 
humour  both,  he  went  to  cutting  up  the  pork,  and  Ellen  from  out 
of  her  buffalo  robe  watched  him. 

It  was  beautifully  done.  Even  Ellen  could  see  that,  although 
she  could  not  have  known  if  it  had  been  done  ill.  The  knife 
guided  by  strength  and  skill  seemed  to  go  with  the  greatest  ease 
and  certainty  just  where  he  wished  it;  the  hams  were  beautifully 
trimmed  out ;  the  pieces  fashioned  clean ;  no  ragged  cutting ;  and 
his  quick-going  knife  disposed  of  carcass  after  carcass  with  admi 
rable  neatness  and  celerity.  Sam  meanwhile  arranged  the  pieces 
in  different  parcels  at  his  direction,  and  minded  the  kettle,  in 
which  a  great  boiling  and  scumming  was  going  on.  Ellen  was  too 
much  amused  for  a  while  to  ask  any  questions.  When  the  cutting 
up  was  all  done  the  hams  and  shoulders  were  put  in  a  cask  by 
themselves  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  began  to  pack  down  the  other 
pieces  in  the  kits,  strewing  them  with  an  abundance  of  salt. 

"  What's  the  use  of  putting  all  that  salt  with  the  pork,  Mr. 
Van  Brunt?"  said  Ellen. 

"It  wouldn't  keep  good  without  that;  it  would  spoil  very 
quick." 

"  Will  the  salt  make  it  keep  ?' 

"  All  the  year  round — as  sweet  as  a  nut." 

"  I  wonder  what  is  the  reason  of  that,"  said  Ellen.  "  Will  salt 
make  every  thing  keep  good?" 

"  Every  thing  in  the  world— if  it  only  has  enough  of  it,  and  is 
kept  dry  and  cool." 

"  Are  you  going  to  do  the  hams  in  the  same  way  ?" 

:c  No ; — they're  to  go  in  that  pickle  over  the  fire." 

"  In  this  kettle  ?  what  is  in  it  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"You  must  ask  Miss  Fortune  about  that; — sugar  and  salt  and 
saltpetre  and  molasses,  and  I  don't  know  what  all." 

11  And  will  this  make  the  hams  so  different  from  the  rest  of  the 
pork?" 

20* 


234  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  No  ;  they've  got  to  be  smoked  after  they  have  laid  in  that  for 
a  while." 

"  Smoked!"  said  Ellen;  "how?" 

"  Why  ha'n't  you  been  in  the  smoke-house  ?  The  hams  has  to 
be  taken  out  of  the  pickle  and  hung  up  there ;  and  then  we  make 
a  little  fire  of  oak  chips  and  keep  it  burning  night  and  day." 

"  And  how  long  must  they  stay  in  the  smoke  ?" 

"  Oh,  three  or  four  weeks  or  so." 

"  And  then  they  are  done." 

"  Then  they  are  done." 

"How  very  curious!"  said  Ellen.  "Then  it's  the  smoke  that 
gives  them  that  nice  taste  ?  I  never  knew  smoke  was  good  for 
any  thing  before." 

"Ellen  !"  said  the  voice  of  Miss  Fortune  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs, — "  come  right  up  here  this  minute  !  you'll  catch  your 
death!" 

Ellen's  countenance  fell. 

"  There's  no  sort  of  fear  of  that,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 
quietly,  "  and  Miss  Ellen  is  fastened  up  so  she  can't  get  loose; 
and  I  can't  let  her  out  just  now." 

The  upper  door  was  shut  again  pretty  sharply,  but  that  was  the 
only  audible  expression  of  opinion  with  which  Miss  Fortune 
favoured  them. 

"I  guess  my  leather  curtains  keep  off  the  wind,  dont't  they?" 
said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  Yes,  indeed  they  do,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  don't  feel  a  breath  ;  I  am 
as  warm  as  a  toast, — too  warm  almost.  How  nicely  you  have  fixed 
me  up,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

"I  thought  that  'ere  old  buffalo  had  done  its  work,"  he  said, 
"but  I'll  never  say  any  thing  is  good  for  nothing  again.  Have 
you  found  out  where  the  apples  are  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen. 

"Ha'n't  Miss  Fortune  showed  you!  Well,  it's  time  you'd 
know.  Sam,  take  that  little  basket  and  go  fill  it  at^the  bin;  I 
guess  you  know  where  they  be,  for  I  believe  you  put  'em  there." 

Sam  went  into  the  cellar,  and  presently  returned  with  the 
basket  nicely  filled.  He  handed  it  to  Ellen. 

"  Are  all  these  for  me?"  she  said  in  surprise. 

"  Every  one  of  'em,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"But  I  don't  like  to,"  said  Ellen ;—"  what  will  aunt  Fortune 
say?" 

"  She  won't  say  a  word,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  "  and  don  t  you 
say  a  word  neither,  but  whenever  you  want  apples  just  go  to  the 
bin  and  take  'em.  /give  you  leave.  It's  right  at  the  end  of  the 
far  cellar,  at  the  left-hand  corner;  there  are  the  bins  and^all  sorts 
of  apples  in  'em.  You've  got  a  pretty  variety  there,  ha'n't  you? 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


235 


"Oh,  all  sorts,"  said  Ellen, — "and  what  beauties!  and  I  love 
apples  very  much, — red,  and  yellow,  and  speckled,  and  green. — 
What  a  great  monster  !" 

"That's  a  Swar;  that  ain't  as  good  as  most  of  the  others ; — 
those  are  Seek-no-furthers." 

"  Seek-no  further !"  said  Ellen; — '-what  a  funny  name.  It 
ought  to  be  a  mighty  good  apple.  /  shall  seek  further  at  any  rate. 
What  is  this?"  > 


"  That's  as  good  an  apple  as  you've  got  in  the  basket;  that's  a 
real  Orson  pippin ;  a  very  fine  kind.  I'll  fetch  you  some  up  from 
home  some  day  though  that  are  better  than  the  best  of  those." 

The  pork  was  all  packed ;  the  kettle  was  lifted  off  the  fire ;  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  was  wiping  his  hands  from  the  salt. 

"And  now  I  suppose  I  must  go,"  said  Ellen  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  Why  /must  go,"  said  he, — "  so  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  let 
you  out  of  your  tent  first." 

"I  have  had  such  a  nice  time,"  said  Ellen ;  "I  had  got  so  tired 
of  doing  nothing  up  stairs.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr. 
Van  Brunt.  But,"  said  she,  stopping  as  she  had  taken  up  her 
basket  to  go, — "aren't  you  going  to  put  the  hams  in  the  pickle?" 


236  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"No,"  said  he,  laughing,  "it  must  wait  to  get  cold  first.  But 
you'll  make  a  capital  farmer's  wife,  there's  no  mistake." 

Ellen  blushed,  and  ran  up  stairs  with  her  apples.  To  bestow 
them  safely  in  her  closet  was  her  first  care ;  the  rest  of  the  morn 
ing  was  spent  in  increasing  weariness  and  listlessness.  She  had 
brought  down  her  little  hymn-book,  thinking  to  amuse  herself  with 
learning  a  hymn,  but  it  would  not  do ;  eyes  and  head  both  refused 
their  part  of  the  work  ;  and  when  at  last  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  in 
to  a  late  dinner,  he  found  Ellen  seated  flat  on  the  hearth  before 
the  fire,  her  right  arm  curled  round  upon  the  hard  wooden  bottom 
of  one  of  the  chairs,  and  her  head  pillowed  upon  that,  fast  asleep. 

11  Bless  my  soul !"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  "  what's  become  of  that 
'ere  rocking-cheer  ?" 

"It's  up  stairs,  I  suppose.  You  can  go  fetch  it  if  you've  a 
mind  to,"  answered  Miss  Fortune  dryly  enough. 

He  did  so  immediately ;  and  Ellen  barely  waked  up  to  feel  her 
self  lifted  from  the  floor,  and  placed  in  the  friendly  rocking-chair ; 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  remarking  at  the  same  time  that  "  it  might  be  well 
enough  to  let  well  folks  lie  on  the  floor,  and  sleep  on  cheers,  but 
cushions  warn't  a  bit  too  soft  for  sick  ones." 

Among  the  cushions  Ellen  went  to  sleep  again  with  a  much  bet 
ter  prospect  of  rest ;  and  either  sleeping  or  dozing  passed  away  the 
time  for  a  good  while. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

0  that  I  were  an  Orange  tree, 

That  busy  plant ! 
Then  should  I  always  laden  be, 

And  never  want 
Some  fruit  for  him  that  dresseth  me. 

G.  HERBERT. 

SHE  was  thoroughly  roused  at  last  by  the  slamming  of  the  house- 
door  after  her  aunt.  She  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  gone  forth  on 
their  sleighing  expedition,  and  Ellen  waked  to  find  herself  quite 
alone. 

She  could  not  long  have  doubted  that  her  aunt  was  away,  even 
if  she  had  not  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  bonnet  going  out  of  the 
shed  door, — the  stillness  was  so  uncommon.  No  such  quiet  could 
be  with  Miss  Fortune  anywhere  about  the  premises.  The  old 
grandmother  must  have  been  abed  and  asleep  too,  for  a  cricket 
under  the  hearth  and  the  wood  fire  in  the  chimney  had  it  all  to 
themselves,  and  made  the  only  sounds  that  were  heard  j  the  first 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  237 

singing  out  every  now  and  then  in  a  very  contented  and  cheerful 
style,  and  the  latter  giving  occasional  little  snaps  and  sparks  that 
just  served  to  make  one  take  notice  how  very  quietly  and  steadily 
it  was  burning. 

Miss  Fortune  had  left  the  room  put  up  in  the  last  extreme  of 
neatness.  Not  a  speck  of  dust  could  be  supposed  to  lie  on  the 
shining  painted  floor;  the  back  of  every  chair  was  in  its  place 
against  the  wall.  The  very  hearth-stones  shone  and  the  heads  of 
the  large  iron  nails  in  the  floor  were  polished  to  steel.  Ellen  sat  a 
while  listening  to  the  soothing  chirrup  of  the  cricket  and  the  pleasant 
crackling  of  the  flames.  It  was  a  fine  cold  winter's  day.  The  two 
little  windows  at  the  far  end  of  the  kitchen  looked  out  upon  an 
expanse  of  snow ;  and  the  large  lilac  bush  that  grew  close  by  the 
wall,  moved  lightly  by  the  wind,  drew  its  icy  fingers  over  the  panes 
of  glass.  Wintry  it  was  without ;  but  that  made  the  warmth  and 
comfort  within  seem  all  the  more.  Ellen  would  have  enjoyed  it 
very  much  if  she  had  had  any  one  to  talk  to ;  as  it  was  she  felt 
rather  lonely  and  sad.  She  had  begun  to  learn  a  hymn  ;  but  it  had 
set  her  off  upon  a  long  train  of  thought ;  and  with  her  head  resting 
on  her  hand,  her  fingers  pressed  into  her  cheek,  the  other  hand 
with  the  hymn-book  lying  listlessly  in  her  lap,  and  eyes  staring 
into  the  fire,  she  was  sitting  the  very  picture  of  meditation  when 
the  door  opened  and  Alice  Humphreys  came  in.  Ellen  started  up. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !     I'm  all  alone." 

"Left  alone,  are  you?"  said  Alice,  as  Ellen's  warm  lips  were 
pressed  again  and  again  to  her  cold  cheeks. 

"  Yes,  aunt  Fortune's  gone  out.  Come  and  sit  down  here  in  the 
rocking-chair.  How  cold  you  are.  Oh,  do  you  know  she  is  going 
to  have  a  great  bee  here  Monday  evening  ?  What  is  a  bee  T ' 

Alice  smiled.  "Why,"  said  she,  "when  people  here  in  the 
country  have  so  much  of  any  kind  of  work  to  do  that  their  own 
hands  are  not  enough  for  it,  they  send  and  call  in  their  neighbours 
to  help  them, — that's  a  bee.  A  large  party  in  the  course  of  a  long 
evening  can  do  a  great  deal." 

"  But  why  do  they  call  it  a  bee .?" 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  they  mean  to  be  like  a  hive  of  bees  for 
the  time.  '  As  busy  as  a  bee,'  you  know." 

"  Then  they  ought  to  call  it  a  hive  and  not  a  bee,  I  should  think. 
Aunt  Fortune  is  going  to  ask  sixteen  people.  I  wish  you  were 
coming !" 

"  How  do  you  know  but  I  am  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  know  you  aren't.  Aunt  Fortune  isn't  going  to  ask 
you." 

"  You  are  sure  of  that,  are  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  wish  I  wasn't.  Oh,  how  she  vexed  me  this  morning  by 
something  she  said  1" 


238  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  You  mustn't  get  vexed  so  easily,  my  child.  Don't  let  every 
little  untoward  thing  roughen  your  temper." 

"  But  I  couldn't  help  it,  dear  Miss  Alice  ;  it  was  about  you.  I 
don't  know  whether  I  ought  to  tell  you ;  but  I  don't  think  you'll 
mind  it,  and  I  know  it  isn't  true.  She  said  she  didn't  want  you  to 
come  because  you  were  one  of  the  proud  set." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  ?" 

"  Nothing.  I  had  it  just  on  the  end  of  my  tongue  to  say,  '  It's 
no  such  thing ;'  but  I  didn't  say  it." 

"  I  am  glad  you  were  so  wise.  Dear  Ellen,  that  is  nothing  to 
be  vexed  about.  If  it  were  true,  indeed,  you  might  be  sorry.  I 
trust  Miss  Fortune  is  mistaken.  I  shall  try  and  find  some  way  to 
make  her  change  her  mind.  I  am  glad  you  told  me." 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come,  dear  Alice  !"  said  Ellen  again.  "  I 
wish  I  could  have  you  always  !"  And  the  long,  very  close  pressure 
of  her  two  arms  about  her  friend  said  as  much.  There  was  a  long 
pause.  The  cheek  of  Alice  rested  on  Ellen's  head  which  nestled 
against  her ;  both  were  busily  thinking ;  but  neither  spoke ;  and 
the  cricket  chirped  and  the  flames  crackled  without  being  listened 
to. 

"  Miss  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  long  time, — "  I  wish  you  would 
talk  over  a  hymn  with  me." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  my  dear?"   said  Alice  rousing  herself. 

"  I  mean,  read  it  over  and  explain  it.  Mamma  used  to  do  it 
sometimes.  I  have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  about  her  to-day  ; 
and  I  think  I'm  very  different  from  what  I  ought  to  be.  I  wish 
you  would  talk  to  me  and  make  me  better,  Miss  Alice." 

Alice  pressed  an  earnest  kiss  upon  the  tearful  little  face  that  was 
uplifted  to  her,  and  presently  said, 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  a  poor  substitute  for  your  mother,  Ellen. 
What  hymn  shall  we  take?" 

"  Any  one — this  one  if  you  like.  Mamma  likes  it  very  much. 
I  was  looking  it  over  to-day. 

"  '  A  charge  to  keep  I  have — 

A  God  to  glorify; 
A  never-dying  soul  to  save, 
And  fit  it  for  the  sky.' " 

Alice  read  the  first  line  and  paused. 
"There  now,"  said  Ellen,— "  what  is  a  charge?" 
"  Don't  you  know  that?" 

"  I  think  I  do,  but  I  wish  you  would  tell  me." 
"  Try  to  tell  me  first." 

"  Isn't  it  something  that  is  given  one  to  do? — I  don't  know 
exactly." 

"  It  is  something  given  one  in  trust,  to  be  done  or  taken  care  of. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  239 

I  remember  very  well  once  when  I  was  about  your  age  my  mother 
had  occasion  to  go  out  for  half  an  hour,  and  she  left  me  in  charge 
of  my  little  baby  sister ;  she  gave  me  a  charge  not  to  let  anything 
disturb  her  while  she  was  away  and  to  keep  her  asleep  if  I  could. 
And  I  remember  how  I  kept  my  charge  too.  I  was  not  to  take 
her  out  of  the  cradle,  but  I  sat  beside  her  the  whole  time  ;  I  would 
not  suffer  a  fly  to  light  on  her  little  fair  cheek  ;  I  scarcely  took  my 
eyes  from  her ;  I  made  John  keep  pussy  at  a  distance ;  and  when 
ever  one  of  the  little  round  dimpled  arms  was  thrown  out  upon  the 
coverlet  I  carefully  drew  something  over  it  again." 

"Is  she  dead?"  said  Ellen  timidly,  her  eyes  watering  in  sym 
pathy  with  Alice's. 

"She  is  dead,  my  dear;  she  died  before  we  left  England." 

"  I  understand  what  a  charge  is,"  said  Ellen  after  a  little ;  "  but 
what  is  this  charge  the  hymn  speaks  of?  What  charge  have  I  to 
keep?" 

"The  hymn  goes  on  to  tell  you.  The  next  line  gives  you  part 
of  it.  'A  God  to  glorify.'" 

"To  glorify?"  said  Ellen  doubtfully. 

"Yes — that  is  to  honour, — to  give  him  all  the  honour  that  be 
longs  to  him." 

"  But  can  /honour  Him  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  }  either  honour  or  dishonour  ;  you  cannot  help 
doing  one." 

"I!"   said  Ellen  again. 

"  Must  not  your  behaviour  speak  either  well  or  ill  for  the  mother 
who  has  brought  you  up  ?" 

"Yes — I  know  that." 

"  Very  well  ;  when  a  child  of  God  lives  as  he  ought  to  do,  peo 
ple  cannot  help  having  high  and  noble  thoughts  of  that  glorious 
One  whom  he  serves,  and  of  that  perfect  law  he  obeys.  Little  as 
they  may  love  the  ways  of  religion,  in  their  own  secret  hearts  they 
cannot  help  confessing  that  there  is  a  God  and  that  they  ought  to 
serve  him.  But  a  worldling,  and  still  more  an  unfaithful  Christian, 
just  helps  people  to  forget  there  is  such  a  Being,  and  makes  them 
think  either  that  religion  is  a  sham,  or  that  they  may  safely  go  on 
despising  it.  I  have  heard  it  said,  Ellen,  that  Christians  are  the 
only  Bible  some  people  ever  read ;  and  it  is  true  ;  all  they  know 
of  religion  is  what  they  get  from  the  lives  of  its  professors  ;  and 
oh  !  were  the  world  but  full  of  the  right  kind  of  example,  the 
kingdom  of  darkness  could  not  stand.  '  Arise,  shine  !'  is  a  word 
that  every  Christian  ought  to  take  home." 

"  But  how  can  I  shine  ?"  asked  Ellen. 

"  My  dear  Ellen  ! — in  the  faithful,  patient,  self-denying  perform 
ance  of  every  duty  as  it  comes  to  hand — '  whatsoever  thy  hand 
findeth  to  do,  do  it  with  thy  might.'  " 


240  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD 

"  It  is  very  little  that  /can  do,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Perhaps  more  than  you  think,  but  never  mind  that.  All  are 
not  great  stars  in  the  church  ;  you  may  be  only  a  little  rushlight ; 
— see  you  burn  well !" 

"I  remember,"  said  Ellen,  musing, — "mamma  once  told  me 
when  I  was  going  somewhere,  that  people  would  think  strangely 
of  her  if  I  didn't  behave  well." 

"  Certainly.  Why,  Ellen,  I  formed  an  opinion  of  her  very  soon 
after  I  saw  you." 

"Did  you!"  said  Ellen,  with  a  wonderfully  brightened  face, — 
"  what  was  it  ?  was  it  good  ?  ah  !  do  tell  me  !" 

"I  am  not  quite  sure  of  the  wisdom  of  that,"  said  Alice,  smil 
ing  ;  "you  might  take  home  the  praise  that  is  justly  her  right  and 
not  yours." 

"  Oh,  no  indeed,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  had  rather  she  should  have  it 
than  I.  Please  tell  me  what  you  thought  of  her,  dear  Alice, — I 
know  it  was  good,  at  any  rate." 

"Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  said  Alice,  "at  all  risks.  I  thought 
your  mother  was  a  lady,  from  the  honourable  notions  she  had 
given  you ;  and  from  your  ready  obedience  to  her,  which  was 
evidently  the  obedience  of  love,  I  judged  she  had  been  a  good 
mother  in  the  true  sense  of  the  term.  I  thought  she  must  be  a 
refined  and  cultivated  person  from  the  manner  of  your  speech  and 
behaviour ;  and  I  was  sure  she  was  a  Christian,  because  she  had 
taught  you  the  truth,  and  evidently  had  tried  to  lead  you  in  it." 

The  quivering  face  of  delight  with  which  Ellen  began  to  listen 
gave  way,  long  before  Alice  had  done,  to  a  burst  of  tears. 

"  It  makes  me  so  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  she  said. 

"  The  praise  of  it  is  your  mother's,  you  know,  Ellen." 

"  I  know  it, — but  you  make  me  so  glad  !"  And  hiding  her  face 
in  Alice's  lap,  she  fairly  sobbed. 

"You  understand  now,  don't  you,  how  Christians  may  honour 
or  dishonour  their  Heavenly  Father?" 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  but  it  makes  me  afraid  to  think  of  it." 

"Afraid?  It  ought  rather  to  make  you  glad.  It  is  a  great 
honour  and  happiness  for  us  to  be  permitted  to  honour  him. — 

"  'A  never-dying  soul  to  save, 
And  fit  it  for  the  sky.' 

"  Yes — that  is  the  great  duty  you  owe  yourself.  Oh,  never 
forget  it,  dear  Ellen  !  And  whatever  would  hinder  you,  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it.  '  What  will  it  profit  a  man  though  he  gain 
the  whole  world,  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?' 

"  '  To  serve  the  present  age, 
My  calling  to  fulfil—'  " 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  241 

"  What  is  '  the  present  age?'  "  said  Ellen. 

"  All  the  people  who  are  living  in  the  world  at  this  time." 

"  But,  dear  Alice  ! — what  can  I  do  to  the  present  age  ?" 

"  Nothing  to  the  most  part  of  them  certainly ;  and  yet,  dear 
Ellen,  if  your  little  rushlight  shines  well  there  is  just  so  much  the 
less  darkness  in  the  world, — though  perhaps  you  light  only  a  very 
little  corner.  Every  Christian  is  a  blessing  to  the  world  ;  another 
grain  of  salt  to  go  toward  sweetening  and  saving  the  mass." 

"  That  is  very  pleasant  to  think  of,"  said  Ellen,  musing. 

"  Oh,  if  we  were  but  full  of  love  to  our  Saviour,  how  pleasant 
it  would  be  to  do  any  thing  for  him  !  how  many  ways  we  should 
find  of  honouring  him  by  doing  good." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  some  of  the  ways  that  I  can  do  it," 
said  Ellen. 

"You  will  find  them  fast  enough  if  you  seek  them,  Ellen.  No 
one  is  so  poor  or  so  young  but  he  has  one  talent  at  least  to  use  for 
God." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  mine  is,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Is  your  daily  example  as  perfect  as  it  can  be  ?" 

Ellen  was  silent  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Christ  pleased  not  himself,  and  went  about  doing  good ;  and 
he  said,  '  If  any  man  serve  me,  let  him  follow  me'  Remember 
that.  Perhaps  your  aunt  is  unreasonable  and  unkind ; — see  with 
how  much  patience  and  perfect  sweetness  of  temper  you  can  bear 
and  forbear ;  see  if  you  cannot  win  her  over  by  untiring  gentle 
ness,  obedience,  and  meekness.  Is  there  no  improvement  to  be 
made  here?" 

"  Oh,  me,  yes !"  answered  Ellen  with  a  sigh. 

"  Then  your  old  grandmother.  Can  you  do  nothing  to  cheer  her 
life  in  her  old  age  and  helplessness  ?  can't  you  find  some  way  of 
giving  her  pleasure  ?  some  way  of  amusing  a  long  tedious  hour 
now  and  then?" 

Ellen  looked  very  grave ;  in  her  inmost  heart  she  knew  this  was 
a  duty  she  shrank  from. 

"  He  '  went  about  doing  good.'  Keep  that  in  mind.  A  kind 
word  spoken, — a  little  thing  done  to  smooth  the  way  of  one,  or 
lighten  the  load  of  another, — teaching  those  who  need  teaching, — 
entreating  those  who  are  walking  in  the  wrong  way, — oh  !  my 
child,  there  is  work  enough  ! 

"  '  To  serve  the  present  age, 

My  calling  to  fulfil  ; 
Oh,  may  it  all  my  powers  engage 
To  do  my  Maker's  will. 

" '  Arm  me  with  jealous  care, 

As  in  thy  sight  to  live ; 
And  oh  !  thy  servant,  Lord,  prepare 

A  strict  account  to  give.'  " 
L          <7  21 


242  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  An  account  of  what?"  said  Ellen." 

"  You  know  what  an  account  is.  If  I  give  Thomas  a  dollar  to 
spend  for  me  at  Carra-carra,  I  expect  he  will  give  me  an  exact  ac 
count  when  he  comes  back,  what  he  has  done  with  every  shilling 
of  it.  So  must  we  give  an  account  of  what  we  have  done  with 
every  thing  our  Lord  has  committed  to  our  care, — our  hands,  our 
tongues,  our  time,  our  minds,  our  influence ;  how  much  we  have 
honoured  him,  how  much  good  we  have  done  to  others,  how  fast 
and  how  far  we  have  grown  holy  and  fit  for  heaven." 

"  It  almost  frightens  me  to  hear  you  talk,  Miss  Alice." 

"Not  frighten,  dear  Ellen, — that  is  not  the  word;  sober  we 
ought  to  be  ; — mindful  to  do  nothing  we  shall  not  wish  to  remember 
in  the  great  day  of  account.  Do  you  recollect  how  that  day  is 
described?  Where  is  your  Bible?" 

She  opened  to  the  20th  chapter  of  the  Revelation. 

"  And  I  saw  a  great  white  throne,  and  Him  that  sat  on  it,  from 
whose  face  the  earth  and  the  heaven  flew  away ;  and  there  was 
found  no  place  for  them. 

•  "  And  I  saw  the  dead,  small  and  great,  stand  before  God ;  and 
the  books  were  opened ;  and  another  book  was  opened,  which 
is  the  book  of  life :  and  the  dead  were  judged  out  of  those  things 
which  were  written  in  the  books,  according  to  their  works.  And 
the  sea  gave  up  the  dead  which  were  in  it ;  and  death  and  hell  de 
livered  up  the  dead  which  were  in  them  ;  and  they  were  judged 
every  man  according  to  their  works.  And  death  and  hell  were  cast 
into  the  lake  of  fire.  This  is  the  second  death. 

"  And  whosoever  was  not  found  written  in  the  book  of  life  was 
cast  into  the  lake  of  fire.' ' 

Ellen  shivered.     "  That  is  dreadful !"   she  said. 

"It  will  be  a  dreadful  day  to  all  but  those  whose  names  are 
written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life; — not  dreadful  to  them,  dear 
Ellen." 

"  But  how  shall  I  be  sure,  dear  Alice,  that  my  name  is  written 
there?  and  I  can't  be  happy  if  I  am  not  sure." 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  Alice  tenderly,  as  Ellen's  anxious  face 
and  glistening  eyes  were  raised  to  hers,  "  if  you  love  Jesus  Christ 
you  may  know  you  are  his  child,  and  none  shall  pluck  you  out  of 
his  hand." 

"  But  how  can  I  tell  whether  I  do  love  him  really?  sometimes 
I  think  I  do,  and  then  again  sometimes  I  am  afraid  I  don't  at  all." 

Alice  answered  in  the  words  of  Christ ; — "  He  that  hath  my 
commandments  and  keepeth  them,  he  it  is  that  loveth  me." 

"Oh,  I  don't  keep  his  commandments!"  said  Ellen,  the  tears 
running  down  her  cheeks. 

"Perfectly,  none  of  us  do.  But,  dear  Ellen,  that  is  net  the 
question.  Is  it  your  heart's  desire  and  effort  to  keep  them?  Are 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  243 

you  grieved  when  you  fail? — There  is  the  point.  You  cannot  love 
Christ  without  loving  to  please  him." 

Ellen  rose  and  putting  both  arms  round  Alice's  neck  laid  her 
head  there,  as  her  manner  sometimes  was,  tears  flowing  fast. 

"  I  sometimes  think  I  do  love  him  a  little,"  she  said,  "  but  I  do 
so  many  wrong  things.  But  he  will  teach  me  to  love  him  if  I  ask 
him,  won't  he,  dear  Alice?" 

"  Indeed  he  will,  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  folding  her  arms  round 
her  little  adopted  sister, — "  indeed  he  will.  He  has  promised  that. 
Remember  what  he  told  somebody  who  was  almost  in  despair, — 
'  Fear  not;  only  believe.'  " 

Alice's  neck  was  wet  with  Ellen's  tears;  and  after  they  had 
ceased  to  flow  her  arms  kept  their  hold  and  her  head  its  resting- 
place  on  Alice's  shoulder  for  some  time.  It  was  necessary  at  last 
for  Alice  to  leave  her. 

Ellen  waited  till  the  sound  of  her  horse's  footsteps  died  away  on 
the  road ;  and  then  sinking  on  her  knees  beside  her  rocking-chair 
she  poured  forth  her  whole  heart  in  prayers  and  tears.  She  con 
fessed  many  a  fault  and  short-coming  that  none  knew  but  herself; 
and  most  earnestly  besought  help  that  "  her  little  rushlight  might 
shine  bright."  Prayer  was  to  little  Ellen  what  it  is  to  all  that 
know  it, — the  satisfying  of  doubt,  the  soothing  of  care,  the 
quieting  of  trouble.  She  had  knelt  down  very  uneasy ;  but  she 
knew  that  God  has  promised  to  be  the  hearer  of  prayer,  and  she 
rose  up  very  comforted,  her  mind  fixing  on  those  most  sweet 
words  Alice  had  brought  to  her  memory, — "  Fear  not — only  be 
lieve."  When  Miss  Fortune  returned,  Ellen  was  quietly  asleep 
again  in  her  rocking-chair,  with  a  face  very  pale  but  calm  as  an 
evening  sunbeam. 

"  Well,  I  declare  if  that  child  ain't  sleeping  her  life  away  !" 
said  Miss  Fortune.  "She's  slept  this  whole  blessed  forenoon;  I 
suppose  she'll  want  to  be  alive  and  dancing  the  whole  night  to  pay 
for  it." 

"I  can  tell  you  what  she'll  want  a  sight  more,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,  who  had  followed  her  in ;  it  must  have  been  to  see  about 
Ellen,  for  he  was  never  known  to  do  such  a  thing  before  or  since ; 
— "I'll  tell  you  what  she'll  want,  and  that's  a  right  hot  supper. 
She  eat  as  nigh  as  possible  nothing  at  all  this  noon.  There  ain't 
much  danger  of  her  dancing  a  hole  in  your  floor  this  some  time." 


244  THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Is  supper  ready,  the  house  trimmed,  rushes  strewed,  cobwebs  swept  ? 

TAMING  OP  THE  SHREW. 

GREAT  preparations  were  making  all  Saturday  and  Monday  for 
the  expected  gathering.  From  morning  till  night  Miss  Fortune 
was  in  a  perpetual  bustle.  The  great  oven  was  heated  no  less 
than  three  several  times  on  Saturday  alone.  Ellen  could  hear  the 
breaking  of  eggs  in  the  buttery,  and  the  sound  of  beating  or 
whisking  for  a  long  time  together ;  and  then  Miss  Fortune  would 
come  out  with  floury  hands,  and  plates  of  empty  egg-shells  made 
their  appearance.  But  Ellen  saw  no  more.  Whenever  the  coals 
were  swept  out  of  the  oven  and  Miss  Fortune  had  made  sure  that 
the  heat  was  just  right  for  her  purposes,  Ellen  was  sent  out  of 
the  way,  and  when  she  got  back  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but 
the  fast-shut  oven  door.  It  was  just  the  same  when  the  dishes  in 
all  their  perfection  were  to  come  out  of  the  oven  again.  The 
utmost  Ellen  was  permitted  to  see  was  the  napkin  covering  some 
stray  cake  or  pie  that  by  chance  had  to  pass  through  the  kitchen 
where  she  was. 

As  she  could  neither  help  nor  look  on,  the  day  passed  rather 
wearily.  She  tried  studying ;  a  very  little  she  found  was  enough 
to  satisfy  both  mind  and  body  in  their  present  state.  She  longed 
to  go  out  again  and  see  how  the  snow  looked,  but  a  fierce  wind  all 
the  fore  part  of  the  day  made  it  unfit  for  her.  Toward  the  mid 
dle  of  the  afternoon  she  saw  with  joy  that  it  had  lulled,  and 
though  very  cold,  was  so  bright  and  calm  that  she  might  venture. 
She  had  eagerly  opened  the  kitchen  door  to  go  up  and  get  ready, 
when  a  long  weary  yawn  from  her  old  grandmother  made  her  look 
back.  The  old  lady  had  laid  her  knitting  in  her  lap  and  bent  her 
face  down  to  her  hand,  which  she  was  rubbing  across  her  brow  as 
if  to  clear  away  the  tired  feeling  that  had  settled  there.  Ellen's 
conscience  instantly  brought  up  Alice's  words, — "Can't  you  do 
something  to  pass  away  a  tedious  hour  now  and  then?"  The  first 
feeling  was  of  vexed  regret  that  they  should  have  come  into  her 
head  at  that  moment ;  then  conscience  said  that  was  very  selfish. 
There  was  a  struggle.  Ellen  stood  with  the  door  in  her  hand, 
unable  to  go  out  or  come  in.  But  not  long.  As  the  words  came 
back  upon  her  memory, — "  A  charge  to  keep  I  have," — her  mind 
was  made  up  ;  after  one  moment's  prayer  for  help  and  forgiveness 
she  shut  the  door,  came  back  to  the  fireplace,  and  spoke  in  a 
cheerful  tone. 


"  As  soon  as  she  was  set  free  Ellen  brought  her  Bible." 

Page  245. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  245 

"  Grandma,  wouldn't  you   like  to  have  me  read  something  to 

you?" 

"Read!"  answered  the  old  lady,  "  Laws  a  me !  /don't  read 
nothing,  deary." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  like  to  have  me  read  to  you,  grandma?" 

The  old  lady  in  answer  to  this  laid  down  her  knitting,  folded 
both  arms  round  Ellen,  and  kissing  her  a  great  many  times  declared 
she  should  like  any  thing  that  came  out  of  that  sweet  little  mouth. 
As  soon  as  she  was  set  free  Ellen  brought  her  Bible,  sat  down  close 
beside  her,  and  read  chapter  after  chapter ;  rewarded  even  then  by 
seeing  that  though  her  grandmother  said  nothing  she  was  listening 
with  fixed  attention,  bending  down  over  her  knitting  as  if  in  earnest 
care  to  catch  every  word.  And  when  at  last  she  stopped,  warned 
by  certain  noises  down  stairs  that  her  aunt  would  presently  be 
bustling  in,  the  old  lady  again  hugged  her  close  to  her  bosom,  kiss 
ing  her  forehead  and  cheeks  and  lips,  and  declaring  that  she  was 
"  a  great  deal  sweeter  than  any  sugar-plums ;"  and  Ellen  was  very 
much  surprised  to  feel  her  face  wet  with  a  tear  from  her  grand 
mother's  cheek.  Hastily  kissing  her  again  (for  the  first  time  in 
her  life)  she  ran  out  of  the  room,  her  own  tears  starting  and  her 
heart  swelling  big.  "  Oh  !  how  much  pleasure,"  she  thought,  "  I 
might  have  given  my  poor  grandma,  and  how  I  have  let  her  alone 
all  this  while  !  How  wrong  I  have  been.  But  it  shan't  be  so  in 
future !" 

It  was  not  quite  sundown,  and  Ellen  thought  she  might  yet  have 
two  or  three  minutes  in  the  open  air.  So  she  wrapped  up  very 
warm  and  went  out  to  the  chip-yard. 

Ellen's  heart  was  very  light;  she  had  just  been  fulfilling  a  duty 
that  cost  her  a  little  self-denial,  and  the  reward  had  already  come ; 
and  now  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never  seen  any  thing  so 
perfectly  beautiful  as  the  scene  before  her ; — the  brilliant  snow  that 
lay  in  a  thick  carpet  over  all  the  fields  and  hills,  and  the  pale  streaks 
of  sunlight  stretching  across  it  between  the  long  shadows  that 
reached  now  from  the  barn  to  the  house.  One  moment  the  light 
tinted  the  snow-capped  fences  and  whitened  barn-roofs ;  then  the 
lights  and  the  shadows  vanished  together,  and  it  was  all  one  cold 
dazzling  white.  Oh,  how  glorious ! — Ellen  almost  shouted  to  her 
self.  It  was  too  cold  to  stand  still ;  she  ran  to  the  barnyard  to  see 
the  cows  milked.  There  they  were, — all  her  old  friends, — Streaky 
and  Dolly  and  Jane  and  Sukey  and  Betty  Flynn, — sleek  and  con 
tented  ;  winter  and  summer  were  all  the  same  to  them.  And  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  was  very  glad  to  see  her  there  again,  and  Sam  Larkens 
and  Johnny  Low  looked  as  if  they  were  too,  and  Ellen  told  them 
with  great  truth  she  was  very  glad  indeed  to  be  there  ;  and  then 
she  went  in  to  supper  with  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  an  amazing  appetite. 

That  was  Saturday.  Sunday  passed  quietly,  though  Ellen  could 

21* 


246  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

not  help  suspecting  it  was  not  entirely  a  day  of  rest  to  her  aunt ; 
there  was  a  savoury  smell  of  cooking  in  the  morning  which  nothing 
that  came  on  the  table  by  any  means  accounted  for,  and  Miss 
Fortune  was  scarcely  to  be  seen  the  whole  day. 

With  Monday  morning  began  a  grand  bustle,  and  Ellen  was  well 
enough  now  to  come  in  for  her  share.  The  kitchen,  parlour,  hall, 
shed,  and  lower  kitchen,  must  all  be  thoroughly  swept  and  dusted ; 
this  was  given, to  her,  and  a  morning's  work  pretty  near  she  found 
it.  Then  she  had  to  rub  bright  all  the  brass  handles  of  the  doors, 
and  the  big  brass  andirons  in  the  parlour,  and  the  brass  candlesticks 
on  the  parlour  mantelpiece.  When  at  last  she  got  through  and 
came  to  the  fire  to  warm  herself,  she  found  her  grandmother 
lamenting  that  her  snuff-box  was  empty,  and  asking  her  daughter 
to  fill  it  for  her. 

"  Oh,  I  can't  be  bothered  to  be  running  up  stairs  to  fill  snuff 
boxes  !"  answered  that  lady  ;  u  you'll  have  to  wait." 

"  I'll  get  it,  grandma,"  said  Ellen,  "  if  you'll  tell  me  where." 

"  Sit  down  and  be  quiet !"  said  Miss  Fortune.  "You  go  into 
my  room  just  when  I  bid  you,  and  not  till  then." 

Ellen  sat  down.  But  no  sooner  was  Miss  Fortune  hid  in  the 
buttery  than  the  old  lady  beckoned  her  to  her  side,  and  nodding 
her  head  a  great  many  times,  gave  her  the  box,  saying  softly, 

"  You  can  run  up  now,  she  won't  see  you,  deary.  It's  in  a  jar 
in  the  closet.  Now's  the  time." 

Ellen  could  not  bear  to  say  no.  She  hesitated  a  minute,  and 
then  boldly  opened  the  buttery  door. 

"  Keep  out ! — what  do  you  want?" 

"  She  wanted  me  to  go  for  the  snuff,"  said  Ellen  in  a  whisper; 
"  please  do  let  me — I  won't  look  at  any  thing  nor  touch  any  thing, 
but  just  get  the  snuff." 

With  an  impatient  gesture  her  aunt  snatched  the  box  from  her 
hand,  pushed  Ellen  out  of  the  buttery  and  shut  the  door.  The 
old  lady  kissed  and  fondled  her  as  if  she  had  done  what  she  had 
only  tried  to  do ;  smoothed  down  her  hair,  praising  its  beauty,  and 
whispered, 

"  Never  mind  deary, — you'll  read  to  grandma,  won't  you?" 

It  cost  Ellen  no  effort  now.  With  the  beginning  of  kind  offices 
to  her  poor  old  parent,  kind  feeling  had  sprung  up  fast ;  instead 
of  disliking  and  shunning  she  had  begun  to  love  her. 

There  was  no  dinner  for  any  one  this  day.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt  came  to  an  early  tea  ;  after  which  Ellen  was  sent  to  dress 
herself,  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  get  some  pieces  of  board  for  the 
meat-choppers.  He  came  back  presently  with  an  armful  of  square 
bits  of  wood ;  and  sitting  down  before  the  fire  began  to  whittle  the 
rough  sawn  ends  over  the  hearth.  His  mother  grew  nervous.  Miss 
Fortune  bore  it  as  she  would  have  borne -it  from  no  one  else,  but 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  247 

vexation  was  gathering  in  her  breast  for  the  first  occasion.  Pres 
ently  Ellen's  voice  was  heard  singing  down  the  stairs. 

"I'd  give  something  to  stop  that  child's  pipe  !"  said  Miss  For 
tune  ;  "  she's  eternally  singing  the  same  thing  over  and  over — some 
thing  about  '  a  charge  to  keep' — I'd  a  good  notion  to  give  her  a 
charge  to  keep  this  morning;  it  would  have  been  to  hold  her 
tongue.' ' 

"That  would  have  been  a  public  loss,  /  think,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  gravely. 

"  Well,  you  are  making  a  precious  litter  !"  said  the  lady,  turning 
short  upon  him. 

"Never  mind,"  said  he  in  the  same  tone,— «-"  it's  nothing  but 
what  the  fire' 11  burn  up  anyhow;  don't  worry  yourself  about  it." 

Just  as  Ellen  came  in,  so  did  Nancy  by  the  other  door. 

"What  are  you  here  for?"  said  Miss  Fortune  with  an  ireful 
face. 

"Oh! — Come  to  see  the  folks  and  get  some  peaches,"  said 
Nancy ; — "  come  to  help  along,  to  be  sure." 

"  Ain't  your  grandma  coming?" 

"No,  ma'am,  she  ain't.  I  knew  she  wouldn't  be  of  much  use, 
so  I  thought  I  wouldn't  ask  her." 

Miss  Fortune  immediately  ordered  her  out.  Half  laughing, 
half  serious,  Nancy  tried  to  keep  her  ground,  but  Miss  Fortune 
was  in  no  mood  to  hear  parleying.  She  laid  violent  hands  on  the 
passive  Nancy,  and  between  pulling  and  pushing  at  last  got  her  out 
and  shut  the  door.  Her  next  sudden  move  was  to  haul  off  her 
mother  to  bed.  Ellen  looked  her  sorrow  at  this,  and  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  whistled  his  thoughts ;  but  that  either  made  nothing,  or 
made  Miss  Fortune  more  determined.  Off  she  went  with  her  old 
mother  under  her  arm.  While  she  was  gone  Ellen  brought  the 
broom  to  sweep  up  the  hearth,  but  Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  not  let 
her. 

"  No,"  said  he, — "  it's  more  than  you  nor  I  can  do.  You  know,'* 
said  he  with  a  sly  look,  "  we  might  sweep  up  the  shavings  into  the 
wrong  corner !" 

This  entirely  overset  Ellen's  gravity,  and  unluckily  she  could 
not  get  it  back  again,  even  though  warned  by  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  that 
her  aunt  was  coming.  Trying  only  made  it  worse,  and  Miss  For 
tune's  entrance  was  but  the  signal  for  a  fresh  burst  of  hearty  mer 
riment.  What  she  was  laughing  at  was  of  course  instantly  asked, 
in  no  pleased  tone  of  voice.  Ellen  could  not  tell ;  and  her  silence 
and  blushing  only  made  her  aunt  more  curious. 

"  Come,  leave  bothering  her,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  at  last,  "  she 
was  only  laughing  at  some  of  my  nonsense,  and  she  won't  tell  on 
me." 

"  Will  you  swear  to  that?"  said  the  lady  sharply. 


248  THE  WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

11  Humph  ! — no,  I  won't  swear ;  unless  you  will  go  before  a  mag 
istrate  with  me  ; — but  it  is  true." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  think  I  am  as  easy  blinded  as  all  that  comes 
to !"  said  Miss  Fortune,  scornfully. 

And  Ellen  saw  that  her  aunt's  displeasure  was  all  gathered  upon 
her  for  the  evening.  She  was  thinking  of  Alice's  words  and  try 
ing  to  arm  herself  with  patience  and  gentleness,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  in  walked  Nancy  as  demurely  as  if  nobody  had  ever 
seen  her  before. 

"  Miss  Fortune,  granny  sent  me  to  tell  you  she  is  sorry  she  can't 
come  to-night — she  don't  think  it  would  do  for  her  to  be  out  so  late, 
— she's  a  little  touch  of  the  rheumatics,  she  says." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Miss  Fortune.     "  Now  clear  out!" 

"  You  had  better  not  say  so,  Miss  Fortune — I'll  do  as  much  for 
you  as  any  two  of  the  rest, — see  if  I  don't !" 

"  I  don't  care — if  you  did  as  much  as  fifty  !"  said  Miss  Fortune, 
impatiently.  "  I  won't  have  you  here;  so  go,  or  I'll  give  you 
something  to  help  you  along." 

Nancy  saw  she  had  no  chance  with  Miss  Fortune  in  her  present 
humour,  and  went  quickly  out.  A  little  while  after  Ellen  was 
standing  at  the  window,  from  which  through  the  shed  window  she 
had  a  view  of  the  chip-yard,  and  there  she  saw  Nancy  lingering 
still,  walking  round  and  round  in  a  circle,  and  kicking  the  snow 
with  her  feet  in  a  discontented  fashion. 

"I  am  very  glad  she  isn't  going  to  be  here,"  thought  Ellen. 
11  But,  poor  thing !  I  dare  say  she  is  very  much  disappointed. 
And  how  sorry  she  will  feel  going  back  all  that  long,  long  way 
home  ! — what  if  I  should  get  her  leave  to  stay  ?  wouldn't  it  be  a 
fine  way  of  returning  good  for  evil? — But  oh,  dear!  I  don't  want 
her  here  !  But  that's  no  matter — " 

The  next  minute  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  half  startled  by  Ellen's 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  softest  of  whispers  in  his  ear.  He 
looked  up,  very  much  surprised. 

"  Why,  do  you  want  her?"  said  he,  likewise  in  alow  tone. 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  I  know  I  should  feel  very  sorry  if  I 
was  in  her  place." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  whistled  quietly  to  himself.  "  Well !"  said  he, 
"  you  are  a  good-natured  piece." 

"Miss  Fortune,"  said  he  presently,  "if  that  mischievous  girl 
comes  in  again  I  recommend  you  to  let  her  stay." 

«  Why  ?" 

"  'Cause  it's  true  what  she  said — she'll  do  you  as  much  good  as 
half  a  dozen.  She'll  behave  herself  this  evening,  I'll  engage, 
or  if  she  don't  I'll  make  her." 

"She's  too  impudent  to  live!  But  I  don't  care — her  grand 
mother  is  another  sort, — but  I  guess  she  is  gone  by  this  time." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  249 

Ellen  waited  only  till  her  aunt's  back  was  turned.  She  slipped 
down  stairs  and  out  at  the  kitchen  door,  and  ran  up  the  slope  to 
the  fence  of  the  chip-yard. 

"  Nancy— Nancy!" 

"What?"  said  Nancy,  wheeling  about. 

"  If  you  go  in  now  I  guess  aunt  Fortune  will  let  you  stay." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so?"  said  the  other  surlily. 

"  '  Cause  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  speaking  to  her  about  it.  Go  in 
and  you'll  see." 

Nancy  looked  doubtfully  at  Ellen's  face,  and  then  ran  hastily 
in.  More  slowly  Ellen  went  back  by  the  way  she  came.  When 
she  reached  the  upper  kitchen  she  found  Nancy  as  busy  as  possi 
ble, — as  much  at  home  already  as  if  she  had  been  there  all  day  ; 
helping  to  set  the  table  in  the  hall,  and  going  to  and  fro  between 
that  and  the  buttery  with  an  important  face.  Ellen  was  not  suf 
fered  to  help,  nor  even  to  stand  and  see  what  was  doing ;  so  she 
sat  down  in  the  corner  by  her  old  friend  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  and 
with  her  head  in  her  lap  watched  by  the  firelight  the  busy  figures 
that  went  back  and  forward,  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  who  still  sat 
working  at  his  bits  of  board.  There  were  pleasant  thoughts  in 
Ellen's  head  that  kept  the  dancing  blaze  company.  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  once  looked  up  and  asked  what  she  was  smiling  at ;  the 
smile  brightened  at  his  question,  but  he  got  no  more  answer. 

At  last  the  supper  was  all  set  out  in  the  hall  so  that  it  could 
very  easily  be  brought  into  the  parlour  when  the  time  came ;  the 
waiter  with  the  best  cups  and  saucers,  which  always  stood  covered 
with  a  napkin  on  the  table  in  the  front  room,  was  carried  away ; 
the  great  pile  of  wood  in  the  parlour  fireplace,  built  ever  since 
morning,  was  kindled ;  all  was  in  apple-pie  order,  and  nothing  was 
left  but  to  sweep  up  the  shavings  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  made. 
This  was  done ;  and  then  Nancy  seized  hold  of  Ellen. 

"  Come  along,"  said  she,  pulling  her  to  the  window, — "  come 
along,  and  let  us  watch  the  folks  come  in." 

"  But  it  isn't  time  for  them  to  be  here  yet,"  said  Ellen,  "  the  fire 
is  only  just  burning." 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !  they  won't  wait  for  the  fire  to  burn,  I  can  tell 
you.  They'll  be  along  directly,  some  of  them.  I  wonder  what 
Miss  Fortune  is  thinking  of, — that  fire  had  ought  to  have  been 
burning  this  long  time  ago, — but  they  won't  set  to  work  till  they 
all  get  here,  that's  one  thing.  Do  you  know  what's  going  to  be  for 
supper?" 

"  No." 

"Not  a  bit?" 

"No." 

"  Ain't  that  funny  !  Then  I'm  better  off  than  you.  I  say,  Ellen, 
any  one  would  think  /was  Miss  Fortune's  niece  and  you  was  some- 


250  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

body  else,  wouldn't  they?  Goodness!  I'm  glad  I  ain't.  I  am 
going  to  make  part  of  the  supper  myself, — what  do  you  think  of 
that  ?  Miss  Fortune  always  has  grand  suppers — when  she  has  'em 
at  all ;  'tain't  very  often,  that's  one  thing.  I  wish  she'd  have  a 
bee  every  week,  I  know,  and  let  me  come  and  help.  Hark  ! — didn't 
I  tell  you?  there's  somebody  coming  this  minute ;  don't  you  hear 
the  sleigh-bells?  I'll  tell  you  who  it  is  now;  it's  the  Lawsons; 
you  see  if  it  ain't.  It's  good  it's  such  a  bright  night — we  can  see 
'em  first-rate.  There — here  they  come — just  as  I  told  you — here's 
Mirny  Lawson  the  first  one — if  there's  any  body  I  do  despise  it's 
Mirny  Lawson." 

"Hush!"  said  Ellen.  The  door  opened  and  the  lady  herself 
walked  in  followed  by  three  others — large,  tall  women,  muffled  from 
head  to  foot  against  the  cold.  The  quiet  kitchen  was  speedily 
changed  into  a  scene  of  bustle.  Loud  talking  and  laughing — a 
vast  deal  of  unrobing — pushing  back  and  pulling  up  chairs  on  the 
hearth — and  Nancy  and  Ellen  running  in  and  out  of  the  room  with 
countless  wrappers,  cloaks,  shawls,  comforters,  hoods,  mittens,  and 
moccasins. 

"  What  a  precious  muss  it  will  be  to  get  'em  all  their  own  things 
when  they  come  to  go  away  again,"  said  Nancy.  "  Throw  'em  all 
down  there,  Ellen,  in  that  heap.  Now  come  quick — somebody  else 
'11  be  here  directly." 

"  Which  is  Miss  Mirny?"  said  Ellen. 

11  That  big  ugly  woman  in  a  purple  frock.  The  one  next  her  is 
Kitty — the  black-haired  one  is  Mary,  and  t'other  is  Fanny.  Ugh  1 
don't  look  at  'em ;  I  can't  bear  'em." 

"Why?" 

"  'Cause  I  don't,  I  can  tell  you  ;  reason  good.  They  are  as  stingy 
as  they  can  live.  Their  way  is  to  get  as  much  as  they  can  out  of 
other  folks,  and  let  other  folks  get  as  little  as  they  can  out  of  them. 
I  know  'em.  Just  watch  that  purple  frock  when  it  comes  to  the 
eating.  There's  Mr.  Bob." 

"Mr.  who?" 

"  Bob — Bob  Lawson.  He's  a  precious  small  young  man,  for 
such  a  big  one.  There — go  take  his  hat.  Miss  Fortune,"  said 
Nancy  coming  forward,  u  mayn't  the  gentlemen  take  care  of  their 
own  things  in  the  stoop,  or  must  the  young  ladies  wait  upon  them 
teo?  t'other  room  won't  hold  every  thing  neither." 

This  speech  raised  a  general  laugh,  in  the  midst  of  which  Mr. 
Bob  carried  his  own  hat  and  cloak  into  the  shed  as  desired.  Before 
Nancy  had  done  chuckling  came  another  arrival ;  a  tall,  lank  gentle 
man,  with  one  of  those  unhappy-shaped  faces  that  are  very  broad 
at  the  eyes  and  very  narrow  across  the  chops,  and  having  a  par 
ticularly  grave  and  dull  expression.  He  was  welcomed  with  such 
a  shout  of  mingled  laughter,  greeting,  and  jesting,  that  the  room 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  251 

was  in  a  complete  hurly-burly  ;  and  a  plain-looking  stout  elderly  lady, 
who  had  come  in  just  behind  him,  was  suffered  to  stand  unnoticed. 

"  It's  Miss  Janet,"  whispered  Nancy, — "  Mr.  Marshchalk's  aunt. 
Nobody  wants  to  see  her  here ;  she's  one  of  your  pious  kind,  and 
that's  a  kind  your  aunt  don't  take  to." 

Instantly  Ellen  was  at  her  side,  offering  gently  to  relieve  her  of 
hood  and  cloak,  and  with  a  tap  on  his  arm  drawing  Mr.  Van  Brunt's 
attention  to  the  neglected  person. 

Quite  touched  by  the  respectful  politeness  of  her  manner,  the 
old  lady  inquired  of  Miss  Fortune  as  Ellen  went  off  with  a  load  of 
mufflers,  "  who  was  that  sweet  little  thing?" 

"  It's  a  kind  of  sweetmeats  that  is  kept  for  company,  Miss  Janet," 
replied  Miss  Fortune  with  a  darkened  brow. 

"  She's  too  good  for  e  very-day  use,  that's  a  fact,"  remarked  Mr. 
Van  Brunt. 

Miss  Fortune  coloured  and  tossed  her  head,  and  the  company 
were  for  a  moment  still  with  surprise.  Another  arrival  set  them 
agoing  again. 

"  Here  come  the  Hitchcocks,  Ellen,"  said  Nancy.  "  Walk  in, 
Miss  Mary — walk  in,  Miss  Jenny — Mr.  Marshchalk  has  been  here 
this  great  while." 

Miss  Mary  Hitchcock  was  in  nothing  remarkable.  Miss  Jenny 
when  her  wrappers  were  taken  off  showed  a  neat  little  round  figure, 
and  a  round  face  of  very  bright  and  good-humoured  expression. 
It  fastened  Ellen's  eye,  till  Nancy  whispered  her  to  look  at  Mr. 
Juniper  Hitchcock,  and  that  young  gentleman  entered  dressed  in 
the  last  style  of  elegance.  His  hair  was  arranged  in  a  faultless 
manner — unless  perhaps  it  had  a  little  too  much  of  the  tallow  can 
dle  ;  for  when  he  had  sat  for  a  while  before  the  fire  it  had  some 
what  the  look  of  being  excessively  wet  with  perspiration.  His 
boots  were  as  shiny  as  his  hair ;  his  waistcoat  was  of  a  startling 
pattern ;  his  pantaloons  were  very  tightly  strapped  down  ;  and  at 
the  end  of  a  showy  watch-ribbon  hung  some  showy  seals. 

The  kitchen  was  now  one  buzz  of  talk  and  good-humour.  Ellen 
stood  half  smiling  herself  to  see  the  universal  smile,  when  Nancy 
twitched  her. 

"  Here's  more  coming — Cilly  Dennison,  I  guess — no,  it's  too 
tall ; — who  is  it?" 

But  Ellen  flung  open  the  door  with  a  half-uttered  scream  and 
threw  herself  into  the  arms  of  Alice,  and  then  led  her  in ;  her  face 
full  of  such  extreme  joy  that  it  was  perhaps  one  reason  why  her 
aunt's  wore  a  very  doubtful  air  as  she  came  forward.  That  could 
not  stand  however  against  the  graceful  politeness  and  pleasantness 
of  Alice's  greeting.  Miss  Fortune's  brow  smoothed,  her  voice 
cleared,  she  told  Miss  Humphreys  she  was  very  welcome,  and  she 
meant  it.  Clinging  close  to  her  friend  as  she  went  from  one  to 


252  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

another,  Ellen  was  delighted  to  see  that  every  one  echoed  the  wel 
come.  Every  face  brightened  at  meeting  hers,  every  eye  softened, 
and  Jenny  Hitchcock  even  threw  her  arms  round  Alice  and  kissed 
her. 

Ellen  left  now  the  window  to  Nancy  and  stood  fast  by  her 
adopted  sister,  with  a  face  of  satisfaction  it  was  pleasant  to  see, 
watching  her  very  lips  as  they  moved.  Soon  the  door  opened 
again,  and  various  voices  hailed  the  new-comer  as  "  Jane,"  "  Jany," 
and  "  Jane  Huff."  She  was  a  decidedly  plain-looking  country  girl, 
but  when  she  came  near,  Ellen  saw  a  sober  sensible  face  and  a  look 
of  thorough  good  nature  which  immediately  ranked  her  next  to 
Jenny  Hitchcock  in  her  fancy.  Mr.  Bill  Huff  followed,  a  sturdy 
young  man ;  quite  as  plain  and  hardly  so  sensible-looking,  he  was 
still  more  shining  with  good-nature.  He  made  no  pretension  to  the 
elegance  of  Mr.  Juniper  Hitchcock ;  but  before  the  evening  was 
over,  Ellen  had  a  vastly  greater  respect  for  him. 

Last,  not  least,  came  the  Dennisons  ;  it  took  Ellen  some  time  to 
make  up  her  mind  about  them.  Miss  Cilly,  or  Cecelia,  was  cer 
tainly  very  elegant  indeed.  Her  hair  was  in  the  extremest  state 
of  nicety,  with  a  little  round  curl  plastered  in  front  of  each  ear ; 
how  she  coaxed  them  to  stay  there  Ellen  could  not  conceive.  She 
wore  a  real  watch,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that,  and  there  was  even 
a  ring  on  one  of  her  fingers  with  two  or  three  blue  or  red  stones  in 
it.  Her  dress  was  smart,  and  so  was  her  figure,  and  her  face  was 
pretty ;  and  Ellen  overheard  one  of  the  Lawsons  whisper  to  Jenny 
Hitchcock  that  "  there  wasn't  a  greater  lady  in  the  land  than  Cilly 
Dennison."  Her  brother  was  very  different;  tall  and  athletic,  and 
rather  handsome,  he  made  no  pretension  to  be  a  gentleman.  He 
valued  his  fine  farming  and  fine  cattle  a  great  deal  higher  than 
Juniper  Hitchcock's  gentility. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Wi'  merry  sangs,  an'  friendly  cracks 

I  wat  they  didna  weary  : 
An'  unco  tales,  an'  funnie  jokes, 

Their  sports  were  cheap  an'  cheery. 

BURNS. 

As  the  party  were  all  gathered  it  was  time  to  set  to  work.  The 
fire  in  the  front  room  was  burning  up  finely  now,  but  Miss  Fortune 
had  no  idea  of  having  pork-chopping  or  apple-paring  done  there. 
One  party  was  despatched  down  stairs  into  the  lower  kitchen ;  the 
others  made  a  circle  round  the  fire.  Every  one  was  furnished  with 
a  sharp  knife,  and  a  basket  of  apples  was  given  to  each  two  or 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  253 

three.  Now  it  would  be  hard  to  say  whether  talking  or  working 
went  on  best.  Not  faster  moved  the  tongues  than  the  fingers ;  not 
smoother  went  the  knives  than  the  flow  of  talk ;  while  there  was  a 
constant  leaping  of  quarters  of  apples  from  the  hands  that  had 
prepared  them  into  the  bowls,  trays,  or  what-not,  that  stood  on  the 
hearth  to  receive  them.  Ellen  had  nothing  to  do ;  her  aunt  had 
managed  it  so,  though  she  would  gladly  have  shared  the  work  that 
looked  so  pretty  and  pleasant  in  other  people's  hands.  Miss  Fortune 
would  not  let  her ;  so  she  watched  the  rest,  and  amused  herself  as 
well  as  she  could  with  hearing  and  seeing ;  and  standing  between 
Alice  and  Jenny  Hitchcock,  she  handed  them  the  apples  out  of  the 
basket  as  fast  as  they  were  ready  for  them.  It  was  a  pleasant  evening 
that.  Laughing  and  talking  went  on  merrily;  stories  were  told; 
anecdotes,  gossip,  jokes,  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  ;  and  not  one 
made  himself  so  agreeable,  or  had  so  much  to  do  with  the  life  and 
pleasure  of  the  party,  as  Alice.  Ellen  saw  it,  delighted.  The 
pared  apples  kept  dancing  into  the  bowls  and  trays ;  the  baskets 
got  empty  surprisingly  fast ;  Nancy  and  Ellen  had  to  run  to  the 
barrels  in  the  shed  again  and  again  for  fresh  supplies. 

"Do  they  mean  to  do  all  these  to-night?"  said  Ellen  to  Nancy 
on  one  of  these  occasions. 

"I  don't  know  what  they  mean,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Nancy, 
diving  down  into  the  barrel  to  reach  the  apples  ;  "  if  you  had  asked 
me  what  Miss  Fortune  meant,  I  might  ha'  given  a  guess." 

"  But  only  look,"  said  Ellen, — "  only  so  many  done,  and  all  these 
to  do  ! — Well,  I  know  what  '  busy  as  a  bee'  means  now,  if  I  never 
did  before." 

"You'll  know  it  better  to-morrow,  I  can  tell  you." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  wait  till  you  see.  I  wouldn't  be  you  to-morrow  for  some 
thing  though.  Do  you  like  sewing?" 

"Sewing!"  said  Ellen.  But  "Girls!  girls! — what  are  you 
leaving  the  door  open  for  !' ' — sounded  from  the  kitchen,  and  they 
hurried  in. 

"'Most  got  through,  Nancy?"  inquired  Bob  Lawson.  (Miss 
Fortune  had  gone  down  stairs.) 

"Ha'n't  begun  to,  Mr.  Lawson.  There's  every  bit  as  many  to 
do  as  there  was  at  your  house  t'other  night." 

"  What  on  airth  does  she  want  with  such  a  sight  of  'em,"  inquired 
Dan  Dennison. 

"  Live  on  pies  and  apple-sass  till  next  summer,"  suggested  Mirny 
Lawson. 

"  That's  the  stuff  for  my  money  !"  replied  her  brother  ;  "  'taters 
and  apple-sass  is  my  sass  in  the  winter." 

"  It's  good  those  is  easy  got,"  said  his  sister  Mary  ;  "  the  sass  is 
the  most  of  the  dinner  to  Bob  most  commonly." 

2 


254  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Are  they  fixing  for  more  apple-sass  down  stairs  ?"  Mr.  Dennison 
went  on  rather  dryly. 

"  No — hush  !" — said  Juniper  Hitchcock, — "  sassages  !" 

"  Humph!"  said  Dan,  as  he  speared  up  an  apple  out  of  the 
basket  on  the  point  of  his  knife, — "  ain't  that  something  like  what 
you  call  killing  two " 

"  Just  that  exactly,"  said  Jenny  Hitchcock,  as  Dan  broke  off 
short,  and  the  mistress  of  the  house  walked  in.  "Ellen,"  she 
whispered,  "don't  you  want  to  go  down  stairs  and  see  when  the 
folks  are  coming  up  to  help  us  ?  And  tell  the  doctor  he  must  be 
spry,  for  we  ain't  a-go'ng  to  get  through  in  a  hurry,"  she  added, 
laughing. 

"  Which  is  the  doctor,  ma'am?" 

"  The  doctor — Doctor  Marshchalk — don't  you  know  ?" 

"  Is  he  a  doctor?"  said  Alice. 

"  No,  not  exactly,  I  suppose,  but  he's  just  as  good  as  the  real. 
He's  a  natural  knack  at  putting  bones  in  their  places  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing.  There  was  a  man  broke  his  leg  horribly  at  Thirl- 
wall  the  other  day,  and  Gibson  was  out  of  the  way,  and  Marsh- 
chalk  set  it,  and  did  it  famously  they  said.  So  go,  Ellen,  and 
bring  us  word  what  they  are  all  about." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  head  of  the  party  in  the  lower  kitchen. 
He  stood  at  one  end  of  the  table,  cutting  with  his  huge  knife  the 
hard-frozen  pork  into  very  thin  slices,  which  the  rest  of  the  com 
pany  took  and  before  they  had  time  to  thaw  cut  up  into  small  dice 
on  the  little  boards  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  prepared.  As  large  a  fire 
as  the  chimney  would  hold  was  built  up  and  blazing  finely ;  the 
room  looked  as  cosey  and  bright  as  the  one  up  stairs,  and  the  people 
as  busy  and  as  talkative.  They  had  less  to  do,  however,  or  they 
had  been  more  smart,  for  they  were  drawing  to  the  end  of  their 
chopping  ;  of  which  Miss  Janet  declared  herself  very  glad,  for 
she  said,  "the  wind  came  sweeping  in  under  the  doors  and  freez 
ing  her  feet  the  whole  time,  and  she  was  sure  the  biggest  fire 
ever  was  built  couldn't  warm  that  room;"  an  opinion  in  which 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt  agreed  perfectly.  Miss  Janet  no  sooner  spied 
Ellen  standing  in  the  chimney-corner  than  she  called  her  to  her 
side,  kissed  her,  and  talked  to  her  a  long  time,  and  finally  fum 
bling  in  her  pocket  brought  forth  an  odd  little  three-cornered  pin 
cushion  which  she  gave  her  for  a  keepsake.  Jane  Huff  and  her 
brother  also  took  kind  notice  of  her ;  and  Ellen  began  to  think  the 
world  was  full  of  nice  people.  About  half-past  eight  the  choppers 
went  up  and  joined  the  company  who  were  paring  apples  ;  the 
circle  was  a  very  large  one  now,  and  the  buzz  of  tongues  grew 
quite  furious. 

"  What  are  you  smiling  at?"  asked  Alice  of  Ellen,  who  stood 
at  her  elbow. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  255 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  more  broadly;  and 
presently  added, — "  they're  all  so  kind  to  me." 

"Who?" 

"  Oh,  every  body — Miss  Jenny,  and  Miss  Jane  Huff,  and  Miss 
Janet,  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  and  Mr.  Huff, — they  all  speak  so 
kindly  and  look  so  kindly  at  me.  But  it's  very  funny  what  a 
notion  people  have  for  kissing — I  wish  they  hadn't — I've  run  away 
from  three  kisses  already,  and  I'm  so  afraid  somebody  else  will  try 
next." 

"You  don't  seem  very  bitterly  displeased,"  said  Alice  smiling. 

"  I  am,  though, — I  can't  bear  it,"  said  -Ellen,  laughing  and  blush 
ing.  "  There's  Mr.  Dennison  caught  me  in  the  first  place  and 
tried  to  kiss  me,  but  I  tried  so  hard  to  get  away  I  believe  he  saw 
I  was  really  in  good  earnest  and  let  me  go.  And  just  now, — only 
think  of  it, — while  I  was  standing  talking  to  Miss  Jane  Huff  down 
stairs,  her  brother  caught  me  and  kissed  me  before  I  knew  what 
he  was  going  to  do.  I  declare  it's  too  bad  !"  said  Ellen,  rubbing 
her  cheek  very  hard  as  if  she  would  rub  off  the  affront. 

"  You  must  let  it  pass,  my  dear;  it  is  one  way  of  expressing 
kindness.  They  feel  kindly  toward  you  or  they  would  not  do  it." 

"  Then  I  wish  they  wouldn't  feel  quite  so  kindly,"  said  Ellen — 
"  that's  all.  Hark  ! — what  was  that  ?" 

"What  is  that?"  said  somebody  else,  and  instantly  there  was 
silence,  broken  again  after  a  minute  or  two  by  the  faint  blast  of  a 
horn. 

"  It's  old  Father  Swaim,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "  I'll 
go  fetch  him  in." 

"Oh,  yes!  bring  him  in — bring  him  in,"  was  heard  on  all 
sides. 

"That  horn  makes  me  think  of  what  happened  to  me  once," 
said  Jenny  Hitchcock  to  Ellen.  "  I  was  a  little  girl  at  school,  not 
so  big  as  you  are, — and  one  afternoon  when  we  were  all  as  still  as 
mice  and  studying  away,  we  heard  Father  Swaim's  horn" — 

"  What  does  he  blow  it  for?"  said  Ellen,  as  Jenny  stooped  for 
her  knife  which  she  had  let  fall. 

"  Oh,  to  let  people  know  he's  there,  you  know ;  did  you  never 
see  Father  Swaim  ?" 

"  No." 

"  La  !  he's  the  funniest  old  fellow  !  He  goes  round  and  round 
the  country  carrying  the  newspapers ;  and  we  get  him  to  bring  us 
our  letters  from  the  post-office,  when  there  are  any.  He  carries 
'em  in  a  pair  of  saddle-bags  hanging  across  that  old  white  horse  of 
his — I  don't  think  that  horse  will  ever  grow  old,  no  more  than  his 
master, — and  in  summer  he  has  a  stick — so  long — with  a  horse's 
tail  tied  to  the  end  of  it,  to  brush  away  the  flies,  for  the  poor 
horse  has  had  his  tail  cut  off  pretty  short.  I  wonder  if  it  isn't 


256  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

the  very  same,"  said  Jenny,  laughing  heartily;  "Father  Swaim 
thought  he  could  manage  it  best,  I  guess." 

"  But  what  was  it  that  happened  to  you  that  time  at  school?" 
said  Ellen. 

"  Why,  when  we  heard  the  horn  blow,  our  master,  the  school 
master  you  know,  went  out  to  get  a  paper ;  and  I  was  tired  with 
sitting  still,  so  I  jumped  up  and  ran  across  the  room  and  then  back 
again,  and  over  and  back  again  five  or  six  times ;  and  when  he  came 
in  one  of  the  girls  up  and  told  of  it.  It  was  Fanny  Lawson,"  said 
Jenny  in  a  whisper  to  Alice,  "  and  I  think  she  ain't  much  different 
now  from  what  she  was  then.  I  can  hear  her  now, — '  Mr.  Starks, 
Jenny  Hitchcock's  been  running  all  round  the  room.'  Well,  what 
do  you  think  he  did  to  me  ?  He  took  hold  of  my  two  hands  and 
swung  me  round  and  round  by  the  arms  till  I  didn't  know  which 
was  head  and  which  was  feet." 

"  What  a  queer  schoolmaster  !"   said  Ellen. 

"  Queer  enough  ;  you  may  say  that.  His  name  was  Starks; — 
the  boys  used  to  call  him  Starksification.  We  did  hate  him,  that's 
a  fact.  I'll  tell  you  what  he  did  to  a  black  boy  of  ours — you  know 
our  black  Sam,  Alice? — I  forget  what  he  had  been  doing;  but 
Starks  took  him  so — by  the  rims  of  the  ears,  and  danced  him  up 
and  down  upon  the  floor." 

"  But  didn't  that  hurt  him?" 

"  Hurt  him  !  I  guess  it  did  !  he  meant  it  should.  He  tied  me 
under  the  table  once.  Sometimes  when  he  wanted  to  punish  two 
boys  at  a  time  he  would  set  them  to  spit  in  each  other's  faces." 

"  Oh,  don't  tell  me  about  him  !"  cried  Ellen,  with  a  face  of  hor 
ror;  "  I  don't  like  to  hear  it." 

Jenny  laughed;  and  just  then  the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  and  the  old  news-carrier  came  in. 

He  was  a  venerable  mild-looking  old  man,  with  thin  hair  as  white 
as  snow.  He  wore  a  long  snuff-coloured  coat,  and  a  broad-brimmed 
hat,  the  sides  of  which  were  oddly  looped  up  to  the  crown  with 
twine  ;  his  tin  horn  or  trumpet  was  in  his  hand.  His  saddle  bags 
were  on  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  arm.  As  soon  as  she  saw  him  Ellen  was 
fevered  with  the  notion  that  perhaps  he  had  something  for  her,  and 
she  forgot  every  thing  else.  It  would  seem  that  the  rest  of  the 
company  had  the  same  hope,  for  they  crowded  round  him  shout 
ing  out  welcomes  and  questions  and  inquiries  for  letters,  all  in  a 
breath. 

"Softly — softly,"  said  the  old  man,  sitting  down  slowly;  "not 
all  at  once ;  I  can't  attend  to  you  all  at  once  ; — one  at  a  time — one 
at  a  time." 

"Don't  attend  to  'em  at  all  till  you're  ready,"  said  Miss  For 
tune, — «  let  'em  wait."  And  she  handed  him  a  glass  of  cider. 

He  drank  it  off"  at  a  breath,  smacking  his  lips  as  he  gave  back 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  257 

the  glass  to  her  hand,  and  exclaiming,  "  That's  prime!"  Then 
taking  up  his  saddle-bags  from  the  floor,  he  began  slowly  to  undo 
the  fastenings. 

"  You  are  going  to  our  house  to-night,  ain't  you,  Father  Swaim  ?" 
said  Jenny. 

"  That's  where  I  was  going,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  I  was  a  going 
to  stop  with  your  father,  Miss  Jenny ;  but  since  I've  got  into  far 
mer  Van  Brunt's  hands,  I  don't  know  any  more  what's  going  to 
become  of  me  ; — and  after  that  glass  of  cider  I  don't  much  care  ! 
Now  let's  see, — let's  see — '  Miss  Jenny  Hitchcock," — here's  some 
thing  for  you.  I  should  like  very  much  to  know  what's  inside  of 
that  letter — there's  a  blue  seal  to  it.  Ah,  young  folks ! — young 
folks !" 

Jenny  received  her  letter  amidst  a  great  deal  of  laughing  and 
joking,  and  seemed  herself  quite  as  much  amused  as  any  body. 

"  '  Jedediah  B.  Lawson,' — there's  for  your  father,  Miss  Mirny; 
that  saves  me  a  long  tramp — if  you've  twenty-one  cents  in  your 
pocket,  that  is;  if  you  ha' n't,  I  shall  be  obleeged  to  tramp  after 
that.  Here's  something  for  'most  all  of  you,  I'm  thinking.  l  Miss 
Cecilia  Dennison,' — your  fair  hands — how's  the  Squire? — rheuma 
tism,  eh?  I  think  I'm  a  younger  man  now  than  your  father, 
Cecilly ;  and  yet  I  must  ha'  seen  a  good  many  years  more  than 
Squire  Dennison  ; — I  must  surely.  '  Miss  Fortune  Emerson,' — 
that's  for  you  ;  a  double  letter,  ma'am." 

Ellen,  with  a  beating  heart,  had  pressed  nearer  and  nearer  to  the 
old  man,  till  she  stood  close  by  his  right  hand,  and  could  see  every 
letter  as  he  handed  it  out.  A  spot  of  deepening  red  was  on  each 
cheek  as  her  eye  eagerly  scanned  letter  after  letter ;  it  spread  to  a 
sudden  flush  when  the  last  name  was  read.  Alice  watched  in  some 
anxiety  her  keen  look  as  it  followed  the  letter  from  the  old  man's 
hand  to  her  aunt's,  and  thence  to  the  pocket,  where  Miss  Fortune 
coolly  bestowed  it.  Ellen  could  not  stand  this ;  she  sprang  for 
ward  across  the  circle. 

"  Aunt  Fortune,  there's  a  letter  inside  of  that  for  me — won't 
you  give  it  to  me? — won't  you  give  it  to  me  ?"  she  repeated  trem 
bling. 

Her  aunt  did  not  notice  her  by  so  much  as  a  look  ;  she  turned 
away  and  began  talking  to  some  one  else.  The  red  had  left  Ellen's 
face  when  Alice  could  see  it  again  ; — it  was  livid  and  spotted  from 
stifled  passion.  She  stood  in  a  kind  of  maze.  But  as  her  eye 
caught  Alice's  anxious  and  sorrowful  look  she  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands,  and  as  quick  as  possible  made  her  escape  out  of 
the  room. 

For  some  minutes  Alice  heard  none  of  the  hubbub  around  her. 
Then  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  voice  of  Thomas  Grimes 
saying  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt  that  Miss  Humphreys'  horse  was  there. 
r  22* 


258 


THE    WIDE   WIDE    WORLD. 


"  Mr.  Swaim,"  said  Alice  rising,  "  I  don't  like  to  leave  you  with 
these  gay  friends  of  ours  ;  you'll  stand  no  chance  of  rest  with 
them  to-night.  Will  you  ride  home  with  me  ?" 

Many  of  the  party  began  to  beg  Alice  would  stay  to  supper,  but 
she  said  her  father  would  be  uneasy.  The  old  news-carrier  con 
cluded  to  go  with  her,  for  he  said  "  there  was  a  p'int  he  wanted  to 
mention  to  parson  Humphreys  that  he  had  forgotten  to  bring 


for'ard  when  they  were  talking  on  that  'ere  subject  two  months 
ago."  So  Nancy  brought  her  things  from  the  next  room  and  helped 
her  on  with  them,  and  looked  pleased,  as  well  she  might,  at  the 
smile  and  kind  words  with  which  she  was  rewarded.  Alice  lin 
gered  at  her  leave-taking,  hoping  to  see  Ellen ;  but  it  was  not  till 
the  last  moment  that  Ellen  came  in.  She  did  not  say  a  word ;  but 
the  two  little  arms  were  put  around  Alice's  neck  and  held  her  with 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  259 

a  long,  close  earnestness  which  did  not  pass  from  her  mind  all  the 
evening  afterwards. 

When  she  was  gone  the  company  sat  down  again  to  business ; 
and  apple-paring  went  on  more  steadily  than  ever  for  a  while,  till 
the  bottom  of  the  barrels  was  seen,  and  the  last  basketful  of  apples 
was  duly  emptied.  Then  there  was  a  general  shout ;  the  kitchen 
was  quickly  cleared,  and  every  body's  face  brightened,  as  much  as 
to  say,  "Now  for  fun  !"  While  Ellen  and  Nancy  and  Miss  For 
tune  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  were  running  all  ways  with  trays,  pans, 
baskets,  knives,  and  buckets,  the  fun  began  by  Mr.  Juniper  Hitch 
cock's  whistling  in  his  dog  and  setting  him  to  do  various  feats  for 
the  amusement  of  the  company.  There  followed  such  a  rushing, 
leaping,  barking,  laughing,  and  scolding,  on  the  part  of  the  dog 
and  his  admirers,  that  the  room  was  in  an  uproar.  He  jumped 
over  a  stick ;  he  got  into  a  chair  and  sat  up  on  two  legs  ;  he  kissed 
the  ladies'  hands ;  he  suffered  an  apple-paring  to  be  laid  across  his 
nose,  then  threw  it  up  with  a  jerk  and  caught  it  in  his  mouth. 
Nothing  very  remarkable  certainly,  but,  as  Miss  Fortune  observed 
to  somebody,  "if  he  had  been  the  learned  pig  there  couldn't  ha' 
been  more  fuss  made  over  him." 

Ellen  stood  looking  on,  smiling  partly  at  the  dog  and  his  master, 
and  partly  at  the  antics  of  the  company.  Presently  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,  bending  down  to  her,  said, 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  your  eyes?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Ellen  starting, — "at  least  nothing  that's  any 
matter,  I  mean." 

"Come  here,"  said  he,  drawing  heron  one  side;  "tell  me  all 
about  it — what  is  the  matter?" 

"Never  mind — please  don't  ask  me,  Mr.  Van  Brunt — it's  noth 
ing  I  ought  to  tell  you — it  isn't  any  matter." 

But  her  eyes  were  full  again,  and  he  still  held  her  fast  doubt 
fully. 

"  ril  tell  you  about  it,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Nancy  as  she  came 
past  them, — "  you  let  her  go,  and  I'll  tell  you  by  and  by." 

And  Ellen  tried  in  vain  afterwards  to  make  her  promise  she 
would  not. 

"  Come,  June,"  said  Miss  Jenny,  "  we  have  got  enough  of  you 
and  Jumper — turn  him  out ;  we  are  going  to  have  the  cat  now. 
Come! — Puss,  puss  in  the  corner!  Go  off  in  t'other  room,  will 
you,  every  body  that  don't  want  to  play.  Puss,  puss? — " 

Now  the  fun  began  in  good  earnest,  and  few  minutes  had  passed 
before  Ellen  was  laughing  with  all  her  heart,  as  if  she  never  had 
had  any  thing  to  cry  for  in  her  life.  After  "puss,  puss  in  the 
corner"  came  "blind-man's-buff;"  and  this  was  played  with  great 
spirit,  the  two  most  distinguished  being  Nancy  and  Dan  Dennison, 
though  Miss  Fortune  played  admirably  well.  Ellen  had  seen  Nancy 


260  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

play  before ;  but  she  forgot  her  own  part  of  the  game  in  sheer 
amazement  at  the  way  Mr.  Dennison  managed  his  long  body,  which 
seemed  to  go  where  there  was  no  room  for  it,  and  vanish  into  air 
just  when  the  grasp  of  some  grasping  "  blind  man"  was  ready  to 
fasten  upon  him.  And  when  he  was  blinded,  he  seemed  to  know 
by  instinct  where  the  walls  were,  and  keeping  clear  of  them  he 
would  swoop  like  a  hawk  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other, 
pouncing  upon  the  unlucky  people  who  could  by  no  means  get  out 
of  the  way  fast  enough.  When  this  had  lasted  a  while  there  was 
a  general  call  for  "  the  fox  and  the  goose ;"  and  Miss  Fortune  was 
pitched  upon  for  the  latter ;  she  having  in  the  other  game  showed 
herself  capable  of  good  generalship.  But  who  for  the  fox  ?  Mr. 
Van  Brunt? 

"Not  I,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — "there  ain't  nothing  of  the 
fox  about  me ;  Miss  Fortune  would  beat  me  all  hollow." 

"  Who  then,  farmer?"  said  Bill  Huff; — "  come,  who  is  the  fox? 
Will  I  do?" 

"  Not  you,  Bill ;  the  goose  'ud  be  too  much  for  you." 

There  was  a  general  shout,  and  cries  of  "  who  then?"  "who 
then?" 

"Dan  Dennison,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "Now  look  out  for  a 
sharp  fight." 

Amidst  a  great  deal  of  laughing  and  confusion  the  line  was 
formed,  each  person  taking  hold  of  a  handkerchief  or  band  passed 
round  the  waist  of  the  person  before  him,  except  when  the  women 
held  by  each  other's  skirts.  They  were  ranged  according  to  height, 
the  tallest  being  next  their  leader  the  "goose."  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
and  the  elder  ladies,  and  two  or  three  more,  chose  to  be  lookers-on, 
and  took  post  outside  the  door. 

Mr.  Dennison  began  by  taking  off  his  coat,  to  give  himself 
more  freedom  in  his  movements ;  for  his  business  was  to  catch  the 
train  of  the  goose,  one  by  one,  as  each  in  turn  became  the  hind 
most  ;  while  Tier  object  was  to  baffle  him  and  keep  her  family 
together,  meeting  him  with  outspread  arms  at  every  rush  he  made 
to  seize  one  of  her  brood ;  while  the  long  train  behind  her,  fol 
lowing  her  quick  movements  and  swaying  from  side  to  side  to  get 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  furious  fox,  was  sometimes  in  the  shape  of 
the  letter  C,  and  sometimes  in  that  of  the  letter  S,  and  sometimes 
looked  like  a  long  snake  with  a  curling  tail.  Loud  was  the  laugh 
ter,  shrill  the  shrieks,  as  the  fox  drove  them  hither  and  thither, 
and  seemed  to  be  in  all  parts  of  the  room  at  once.  He  was  a 
cunning  fox  that,  as  well  as  a  bold  one.  Sometimes,  when  they 
thought  him  quite  safe",  held  at  bay  by  the  goose,  he  dived  under 
or  leaped  over  her  outstretched  arms  and  almost  snatched  hold  of 
little  Ellen,  who  being  the  least  was  the  last  one  of  the  party. 
But  Ellen  played  very  well,  and  just  escaped  him  two  or  three 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  261 

times,  till  he  declared  she  gave  him  so  much  trouble  that  when  he 
caught  her  he  would  "  kiss  her  the  worst  kind."  Ellen  played 
none  the  worse  for  that ;  however  she  was  caught  at  last,  and 
kissed  too ;  there  was  no  help  for  it ;  so  she  bore  it  as  well  as  she 
could.  Then  she  watched,  and  laughed  till  the  tears  ran  down  her 
cheeks  to  see  how  the  fox  and  the  goose  dodged  each  other,  what 
tricks  were  played,  and  how  the  long  train  pulled  each  other  about. 
At  length  Nancy  was  caught ;  and  then  Jenny  Hitchcock ;  and 
then  Cecilia  Dennison ;  and  then  Jane  Huff,  and  so  on,  till  at  last 
the  fox  and  the  goose  had  a  long  struggle  for  Mirny  Lawson, 
which  would  never  have  come  to  an  end  if  Mirny  had  not  gone 
over  to  the  enemy. 

There  was  a  general  pause.  The  hot  and  tired  company  were 
seated  round  the  room,  panting  and  fanning  themselves  with  their 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  speaking  in  broken  sentences ;  glad  to 
rest  even  from  laughing.  Miss  Fortune  had  thrown  herself  down 
on  a  seat  close  by  Ellen,  when  Nancy  came  up  and  softly  asked,  "  Is 
it  time  to  beat  the  eggs  now?"  Miss  Fortune  nodded,  and  then 
drew  her  close  to  receive  a  long  low  whisper  in  her  ear,  at  the  end 
of  which  Nancy  ran  off. 

"Is  there  anything  /  can  do,  aunt  Fortune?"  said  Ellen,  so 
gently  and  timidly  that  it  ought  to  have  won  a  kind  answer. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  aunt, — "  you  may  go  and  put  yourself  to  bed ; 
it's  high  time  long  ago."  And  looking  round  as  she  moved  off 
she  added  "  Go  1" — with  a  little  nod  that  as  much  as  said,  "  I  am 
in  earnest." 

Ellen's  heart  throbbed;  she  stood  doubtful.  One  word  to  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  and  she  need  not  go, — that  she  knew.  But  as  surely 
too  that  word  would  make  trouble  and  do  harm.  And  then  she 
remembered  "  A  charge  to  keep  I  have  !" — She  turned  quick  and 
quitted  the  room. 

Ellen  sat  down  on  the  first  stairs  she  came  to,  for  her  bosom  was 
heaving  up  and  down,  and  she  was  determined  not  to  cry.  The 
sounds  of  talking  and  laughing  came  to  her  ear  from  the  parlour, 
and  there  at  her  side  stood  the  covered-up  supper ; — for  a  few  min 
utes  it  was  hard  work  to  keep  her  resolve.  The  thick  breath  came 
and  went  very  fast.  Through  the  fanlights  of  the  hall  door,  oppo 
site  to  which  she  was  sitting,  the  bright  moonlight  streamed  in  ; — 
and  presently,  as  Ellen  quieted,  it  seemed  to  her  fancy  like  a  gentle 
messenger  from  its  Maker,  bidding  his  child  remember  him  ; — and 
then  came  up  some  words  in  her  memory  that  her  mother's  lips  had 
fastened  there  long  ago; — "  I  love  them  that  love  me,  and  they 
that  seek  me  early  shall  find  me."  She  remembered  her  mother 
had  told  her  it  is  Jesus  who  says  this.  Her  lost  pleasure  was  well 
nigh  forgotten  ;  and  yet  as  she  sat  gazing  into  the  moonlight  Ellen's 
eyes  were  gathering  tears  very  fast. 


262  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Well,  I  am  seeking  him,"  she  thought, — "  can  it  be  that  he 
loves  me? — Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !" 

And  they  were  glad  tears  that  little  Ellen  wiped  away  as  she 
went  up  stairs ;  for  it  was  too  cold  to  sit  there  long  if  the  moon 
was  ever  so  bright. 

She  had  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  door  when  her  grand 
mother  called  out  from  the  other  room  to  know  who  was  there. 

"  It's  I,  grandma." 

"  Ain't  somebody  there  ?     Come  in  here — who  is  it?" 

"It's  I,  grandma,"  said  Ellen,  coming  to  the  door. 

"  Come  in  here,  deary,' '  said  the  old  woman  in  a  lower  tone, — 
"  what  is  it  all?  what's  the  matter?  who's  down  stairs?" 

"It's  a  bee,  grandma;  there's  nothing  the  matter." 

"  A  bee  1  who's  been  stung?  what's  all  the  noise  about?" 

"'Tisn't  that  kind  of  bee,  grandma;  don't  you  know?  there's 
a  parcel  of  people  that  came  to  pare  apples,  and  they've  been  play 
ing  games  in  the  parlour — that's  all." 

"  Paring  apples,  eh?     Is  there  company  below?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ;  a  whole  parcel  of  people." 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  oughtn't  to  ha'  been  abed  ! 
Why  ha' n't  Fortune  told  me?  I'll  get  right  up.  Ellen,  you  go 
in  that  fur  closet  and  bring  me  my  paddysoy  that  hangs  there,  and 
then  help  me  on  with  my  things ;  I'll  get  right  up.  Dear  me ! 
what  was  Fortune  thinking  about?" 

The  moonlight  served  very  well  instead  of  candles.  After  twice 
bringing  the  wrong  dresses  Ellen  at  last  hit  upon  the  "  paddysoy," 
which  the  old  lady  knew  immediately  by  the  touch.  In  haste,  and 
not  without  some  fear  and  trembling  on  Ellen's  part,  she  was  ar 
rayed  in  it ;  her  best  cap  put  on,  not  over  hair  in  the  best  order 
Ellen  feared,  but  the  old  lady  would  not  stay  to  have  it  made  bet 
ter  ;  Ellen  took  care  of  her  down  the  stairs,  and  after  opening  the 
door  for  her  went  back  to  her  room. 

A  little  while  had  passed,  and  Ellen  was  just  tying  her  night 
cap  strings  and  ready  to  go  peacefully  to  sleep,  when  Nancy  burst 
in. 

"  Ellen  !     Hurry  !  you  must  come  right  down  stairs." 

"  Down  stairs  ! — why,  I  am  just  ready  to  go  to  bed." 

"  No  matter — you  must  come  right  away  down.  There's  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  says  he  won't  begin  supper  till  you  come." 

"  But  does  aunt  Fortune  want  me  to?" 

"  Yes,  I  tell  you !  and  the  quicker  you  come  the  better  she'll  be 
pleased.  She  sent  me  after  you  in  all  sorts  of  a  hurry.  She  said 
she  didn't  know  where  you  was." 

"Said  she  didn't  know  where  I  was!  Why,  she  told  me  her 
self "  Ellen  began  and  stopped  short. 

"  Of  course  !"  said  Nancy,  "  don't  you  think  I  know  that?    But 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  263 

he  don't,  and  if  you  want  to  plague  her  you'll  just  tell  him.  Now 
come  and  be  quick,  will  you?  The  supper's  splendid." 

Ellen  lost  the  first  view  of  the  table,  for  every  thing  had  begun 
to  be  pulled  to  pieces  before  she  came  in.  The  company  were  all 
crowded  round  the  table,  eating  and  talking  and  helping  themselves  ; 
and  ham  and  bread  and  butter,  pumpkin  pies  and  mince  pies  and 
apple  pies,  cake  of  various  kinds,  and  glasses  of  egg-nogg  and  cider 
were  in  every  body's  hands.  One  dish  in  the  middle  of  the  big 
table  had  won  the  praise  of  every  tongue ;  nobody  could  guess  and 
many  asked  how  it  was  made,  but  Miss  Fortune  kept  a  satisfied 
silence,  pleased  to  see  the  constant  stream  of  comers  to  the  big  dish 
till  it  was  near  empty.  Just  then  Mr.  Van  Brunt  seeing  Ellen 
had  nothing  gathered  up  all  that  was  left  and  gave  it  to  her. 

It  was  sweet  and  cold  and  rich.  Ellen  told  her  mother  after 
wards  it  was  the  best  thing  she  had  ever  tasted  except  the  ice-cream 
she  once  gave  her  in  New  York.  She  had  taken,  however,  but  one 
spoonful  when  her  eye  fell  upon  Nancy,  standing  back  of  all  the 
company,  and  forgotten.  Nancy  had  been  upon  her  good  behaviour 
all  the  evening,  and  it  was  a  singular  proof  of  this  that  she  had 
not  pushed  in  and  helped  herself  among  the  first.  Ellen's  eye 
went  once  or  twice  from  her  plate  to  Nancy,  and  then  she  crossed 
over  and  offered  it  to  her.  It  was  eagerly  taken,  and  a  little  dis 
appointed  Ellen  stepped  back  again.  But  she  soon  forgot  the 
disappointment.  "  She'll  know  now  that  I  don't  bear  her  any 
grudge,"  she  thought. 

"  Ha' n't  you  got  nothing?"  said  Nancy,  coming  up  presently ; 
"  that  wasn't  your'n  that  you  gave  me,  was  it?" 

Ellen  nodded  smilingly. 

"  Well,  there  ain't  no  more  of  it,"  said  Nancy.  "  The  bowl  is 
empty." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Ellen. 

"Why,  didn't  you  like  it?" 

"  Yes — very  much." 

"  Why,  you're  a  queer  little  fish,"  said  Nancy.  "  What  did  you 
get  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  let  me  in  for?" 

"  How  did  you  know  I  did  ?" 

"  'Cause  he  told  me.  Say — what  did  you  do  it  for?  Mr.  Den- 
nison,  won't  you  give  Ellen  a  piece'of  cake  or  something?  Here 
— take  this,"  said  Nancy,  pouncing  upon  a  glass  of  egg-nogg  which 
a  gap  in  the  company  enabled  her  to  reach ;  "  I  made  it  more  than 
half  myself.  Ain't  it  good?" 

"Yes,  very,"  said  Ellen,  smacking  her  lips;  "  what's  in  it?" 

"  Oh,  plenty  of  good  things.  But  what  made  you  ask  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  to  let  me  stop  to-night?  you  didn't  tell  me — did  you  want 
me  to  stay?" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  don't  ask  me  any  questions." 


264  THE   WIDE,  WIDE   WORLD. 

"Yes  but  I  will  though,  and  you've  got  to  answer  me.  Why 
did  you  ?  Come  ! — do  you  like  me  ? — say  ?" 

"  I  should  like  you,  I  dare  say,  if  you  would  be  different." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care,"  said  Nancy,  after  a  little  pause, — "  I  like 
you,  though  you're  as  queer  as  you  can  be.  I  don't  care  whether 
you  like  me  or  not.  Look  here,  Ellen,  that  cake  there  is  the  best 
— I  know  it  is,  for  I've  tried  'em  all. — You  know  I  told  Van  Brunt 
I  would  tell  him  what  you  were  crying  about  ?" 

u  Yes,  and  I  asked  you  not.     Did  you  ?" 

Nancy  nodded,  being  at  the  moment  still  further  engaged  in 
"trying"  the  cake. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  did.     What  did  he  say  ?" 

"He  didn't  say  much  to  me — somebody  else  will  hear  of  it,  I 
guess.  He  was  mad  about  it,  or  I  am  mistaken.  What  makes 
you  sorry  ?' ' 

"  It  will  only  do  harm  and  make  aunt  Fortune  angry." 

"Well,  that's  just  what  I  should  like  if  I  were  you.  I  can't 
make  you  out." 

"I'd  a  great  deal  rather  have  her  like  me,"  said  Ellen.  "  Was 
she  vexed  when  grandma  came  down  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  she  had  to  keep  it  to  herself  if  she  was; 
every  body  else  was  so  glad,  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  made  such  a  fuss. 
Just  look  at  the  old  lady,  how  pleased  she  is.  I  declare,  if  the 
folks  ain't  talking  of  going!  Come,  Ellen!  now  for  the  cloaks! 
you  and  me  '11  finish  our  supper  afterwards." 

That,  however,  was  not  to  be.  Nancy  was  offered  a  ride  home 
to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  and  a  lodging  there.  They  were  ready  cloaked 
and  shawled,  and  Ellen  was  still  hunting  for  Miss  Janet's  things  in 
the  moonlit  hall,  when  she  heard  Nancy  close  by,  in  a  lower  tone 
than  common,  say, 

"  Ellen — will  you  kiss  me  ?" 

Ellen  dropped  her  armful  of  things,  and  taking  Nancy's  hands, 
gave  her  truly  the  kiss  of  peace. 

When  she  went  up  to  undress  for  the  second  time,  she  found  on 
her  bed — her  letter  !  And  with  tears  Ellen  kneeled  down  and  gave 
earnest  thanks  for  this  blessing,  and  that  she  had  been  able  to  gain 
Nancy's  good- will. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  265 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

• 

"  He  was  a  gentleman  on  whom  I  built  an  absolute  trust." 

MACBETH. 

IT  was  Tuesday  the  22d  of  December,  and  late  in  the  day.  Not 
a  pleasant  afternoon.  The  grey  snow-clouds  hung  low  ;  the  air 
was  keen  and  raw.  It  was  already  growing  dark,  and  Alice  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  firelight,  when  two  little  feet  came  running 
round  the  corner  of  the  house  ;  the  glass  door  opened  and  Ellen 
rushed  in. 

"  I  have  come !  I  have  come !"  she  exclaimed.  "  Oh,  dear 
Alice!  I'm  so  glad!" 

So  was  Alice  if  her  kiss  meant  any  thing. 

"  But  how  late,  my  child  !  how  late  you  are." 

"  Oh,  I  thought  I  never  was  going  to  get  done,"  said  Ellen,  pull 
ing  off  her  things  in  a  great  hurry  and  throwing  them  on  the  sofa, 
— "but  I  am  here  at  last.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !" 

"Why,  what  has  been  the  matter?"  said  Alice,  folding  up  what 
Ellen  laid  down. 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal  of  matter — I  couldn't  think  what  Nancy 
meant  last  night — I  know  very  well  now.  I  shan't  want  to  see 
any  more  apples  all  winter.  What  do  you  think  I  have  been  about 
all  to-day,  dear  Miss  Alice?" 

"Nothing  that  has  done  you  much  harm,"  said  Alice  smiling — 
"  if  I  £fm  to  guess  from  your  looks.  You  are  as  rosy  as  a  good 
Spitzenberg  yourself." 

"  That's  very  funny,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "  for  aunt  Fortune 
said  awhile  ago  that  my  cheeks  were  just  the  colour  of  two  mealy 
potatoes." 

"  But  about  the  apples?"   said  Alice. 

"  Why,  this  morning  I  was  thinking  I  would  come  here  so  early, 
when  the  first  thing  I  knew  aunt  Fortune  brought  out  all  those 
heaps  and  heaps  of  apples  into  the  kitchen,  and  made  me  sit  down 
on  the  floor,  and  then  she  gave  me  a  great  big  needle  and  set  me 
to  stringing  them  all  together,  and  as  fast  as  I  strung  them  she 
hung  them  up  all  round  the  ceiling.  I  tried  very  hard  to  get 
through  before,  but  I  could  not,  and  I  am  so  tired !  I  thought  I 
never  should  get  to  the  bottom  of  that  big  basket." 

"  Never  mind,  love — come  to  the  fire — we'll  try  and  forget  all 
disagreeable  things  while  we  are  together." 

"  I  have  forgotten  it  almost  already,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  sat  down 
in  Alice's  lap  and  laid  her  face  against  hers ; — "  I  don't  care  for  it 
at  all  now." 

M  23 


266  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

But  her  cheeks  were  fast  fading  into  the  uncomfortable  colour 
Miss  Fortune  had  spoken  of;  and  weariness  and  weakness  kept  her 
for  a  while  quiet  in  Alice's  arms,  overcoming  even  the  pleasure  of 
talking.  They  sat  so  till  the  clock  struck  half-past  five ;  then 
Alice  proposed  they  should  go  into  the  kitchen  and  see  Margery, 
and  order  the  tea  made,  which  she  had  no  doubt  Ellen  wanted. 
Margery  welcomed  her  with  great  cordiality.  She  liked  any  body 
that  Alice  liked,  but  she  had  besides  declared  to  her  husband  that 
Ellen  was  "  an  uncommon,  well-behaved  child."  She  said  she 
would  put  the  tea  to  draw,  and  they  should  have  it  in  a  very  few 
minutes. 

"  But,  Miss  Alice,  there's  an  Irish  body  out  by,  waiting  to  speak 
to  you.  I  was  just  coming  in  to  tell  you ;  will  you  please  to  see 
her  now?" 

"  Certainly — let  her  come  in.     Is  she  in  the  cold,  Margery?" 

"No,  Miss  Alice — there's  a  fire  there  this  evening.  I'll  call 
her." 

The  woman  came  up  from  the  lower  kitchen  at  the  summons. 
She  was  young,  rather  pretty,  and  with  a  pleasant  countenance,  but 
unwashed,  uncombed,  untidy, — no  wonder  Margery's  nicety  had 
shrunk  from  introducing  her  into  her  spotless  upper  kitchen.  The 
unfailing  Irish  cloak  was  drawn  about  her,  the  hood  brought  over 
her  head,  and  on  the  head  and  shoulders  the  snow  lay  white,  not 
yet  melted  away. 

"  Did  you  wish  to  speak  to  me,  my  friend  ?"  said  Alice  pleasantly. 

"If  ye  plase,  ma'am,  it's  the  master  I'm  wanting,"  said  the 
woman,  dropping  a  curtsey. 

"  My  father  ?     Margery,  will  you  tell  him  ?" 

Margery  departed. 

"  Come  nearer  the  fire,"  said  Alice, — "  and  sit  down  :  my  father 
will  be  here  presently.  It  is  snowing  again,  is  it  not?" 

"  It  is,  ma'am  ; — a  bitter  storm." 

"  Have  you  come  far  ?" 

"  It's  a  good  bit,  my  lady — it's  more  nor  a  mile  beyant  Carra — 
just  right  forgin  the  ould  big  hill  they  call  the  Catchback  ; — in 
Jemmy  Morrison's  woods — where  Pat  M'Farren's  clearing  is — it's 
there  I  live,  my  lady." 

"That  is  a  long  distance  indeed  for  a  walk  in  the  snow,"  said 
Alice  kindly  ;  "  sit  down  and  come  nearer  the  fire.  Margery  will 
give  you  something  to  refresh  you." 

"  I  thank  ye,  my  lady,  but  I  want  nothing  man  can  give  me  the 
night ;  and  when  one's  on  an  arrant  of  life  and  death,  it's  little  the 
cold  or  the  storm  can  do  to  put  out  the  heart's  fire." 

"  Life  and  death  ?  who  is  sick  ?"   said  Alice. 

"It's  my  own  child,  ma'am, — my  own  boy — all  the  child  I  have 
— and  I'll  have  none  by  the  morning  light." 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  267 

"  Is  he  so  ill  ?"  said  Alice  ;  "  what  is  the  matter  with  him  ?" 

"Myself  doesn't  know." 

The  voice  was  fainter ;  the  brown  cloak  was  drawn  over  her  face  ; 
and  Alice  and  Ellen  saw  her  shoulders  heaving  with  the  grief  she 
kept  from  bursting  out.  They  exchanged  glances. 

"Sit  down,"  said  Alice  again  presently,  laying  her  hand  upon 
the  wet  shoulder; — "sit  down  and  rest;  my  father  will  be  here 
directly.  Margery — oh,  that's  right, — a  cup  of  tea  will  do  her 
good.  What  do  you  want  with  my  father?" 

"  The  Lord  bless  ye  !— I'll  tell  you,  my  lady." 

She  drank  off  the  tea,  but  refused  something  more  substantial 
that  Margery  offered  her. 

"The  Lord  bless  ye!  I  couldn't.  My  lady,  there  wasn't  a 
stronger,  nor  a  prettier,  nor  a  swater  child,  nor  couldn't  be,  nor  he 
was  when  we  left  it — it'll  be  three  years  come  the  fifteenth  of  April 
next ;  but  I'm  thinking  the  bitter  winters  o'  this  cowld  country  has 
chilled  the  life  out  o'  him, — and  troubles  co wider  than  all,"  she 
added  in  a  lower  tone.  "  I  seed  him  grow  waker  an'  waker  an'  his 
daar  face  grow  thinner  an'  thinner,  and  the  red  all  left  it,  only  two 
burning  spots  was  on  it  some  days ;  an'  I  worried  the  life  out  o' 
me  for  him,  an'  all  I  could  do  I  couldn't  do  nothing  at  all  to  help 
him,  for  he  just  growed  waker  an'  waker.  I  axed  the  father 
wouldn't  he  see  the  doctor  about  him,  but  he's  an'  'asy  kind  o'  man, 
my  lady,  an'  he  said  he  would,  an'  he  never  did  to  this  day ;  an' 
John  he  always  said  it  was  no  use  sinding  for  the  doctor,  an' 
looked  so  swate  at  me,  an'  said  for  me  not  to  fret,  for  sure  he'd  be 
better  soon,  or  he'd  go  to  a  better  place.  An'  I  thought  he  was 
like  a  heavenly  angel  itself  already,  an'  always  was,  but  then  more 
nor  ever.  Och !  it's  soon  that  he'll  be  one  entirely! — let  Father 
Shannon  say  what  he  will." 

She  sobbed  for  a  minute,  while  Alice  and  Ellen  looked  on,  silent 
and  pitying. 

"  An'  to-night,  my  lady,  he's  very  bad,"  she  went  on,  wiping 
away  the  tears  that  came  quickly  again, — "  an'  I  seed  he  was  going 
fast  from  me,  an'  I  was  breaking  my  heart  wid  the  loss  of  him, 
whin  I  heard  one  of  the  men  that  was  in  it  say,  '  What's  this  he's 
saying  ?'  says  he.  '  An'  what  is  it  thin  ?'  says  I.  '  About  the 
jantleman  that  praaches  at  Carra,' says  he, — 'he's  a  calling  for 
him,'  says  he.  I  knowed  there  wasn't  a  praast  at  all  at  Carra,  an' 
I  thought  he  was  draaming,  or  out  o'  his  head,  or  crazy  wid  his 
sickness,  like ;  an'  I  went  up  close  to  him,  an'  says  I,  '  John,'  says 
I,  'what  is  it  you  want,'  says  I, — 'an'  sure  if  it's  any  thing  in 
heaven  above  or  in  earth  beneath  that  yer  own  mother  can  get  for 
ye,'  says  I, — '  ye  shall  have  it,'  says  I.  An'  he  put  up  his  two 
arms  to  my  neck  an'  pulled  my  face  down  to  his  lips,  that  was  hot 
wid  the  faver,  an'  kissed  me — he  did — an'  says  he,  '  Mother  daar,' 


268  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

says  he, — 'if  ye  love  me,'  says  he,  « fetch  me  the  good  jantleman 
that  praaches  at  Carra  till  I  spake  to  him.'  *  Is  it  the  praast  you 
want,  John  my  boy?'  says  I, — <  sure  he's  in  it,'  says  I; — for 
Michael  had  been  for  Father  Shannon,  an'  he  had  come  home  wid 
him  half  an  hour  before.  l  Oh,  no,  mother/  says  he,  '  it's  not  him 
at  all  that  I  maan — it's  the  jantleman  that  spakes  in  the  little  white 
church  at  Carra, — he's  not  a  praast  at  all,'  says  he.  l  An'  who  is 
he  thin  ?'  says  I,  getting  up  from  the  bed,  '  or  where  will  I  find 
him,  or  how  will  I  get  to  him  ?'  *  Ye' 11  not  stir  a  fut  for  him  thin 
the  night  Kitty  Dolan,'  says  my  husband, — '  are  ye  mad,'  says  he  ; 
*  sure  it's  not  his  own  head  the  child  has  at  all  at  all,  or  it's  a  little 
hiritic  he  is,'  says  he ;  *  an'  ye  won't  show  the  disrespect  to  the 
praast  in  yer  own  house.'  '  I'm  maaning  none,'  says  I, — {  nor 
more  he  isn't  a  hiritic,  but  if  he  was,  he's  a  born  angel  to  you 
Michael  Dolan  anyhow,'  says  I ;  'an'  wid  the  kiss  of  his  lips  on 
my  face  wouldn't  I  do  the  arrant  of  my  own  boy,  an'  he  a  dying? 
by  the  blessing,  an'  I  will,  if  twenty  men  stud  between  me  an'  it. 
So  tell  me  where  I'll  find  him,  this  praast,  if  there's  the  love  o' 
mercy  in  any  sowl  o'  ye,'  says  I.  But  they  wouldn't  spake  a  word 
for  me,  not  one  of  them  ;  so  I  axed  an'  axed  at  one  place  an'  other, 
till  here  I  am.  An'  now,  my  lady,  will  the  master  go  for  me  to 
my  poor  boy? — for  he'd  maybe  be  dead  while  I  stand  here." 

"Surely  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys,  who  had  come  in  while 
she  was  speaking.  "  Wait  but  one  moment." 

In  a  moment  he  came  back  ready,  and  he  and  the  woman  set 
forth  to  their  walk.  Alice  looked  out  anxiously  after  them. 

"It  storms  very  hard,"  she  said, — "  and  he  has  not  had  his  tea  ! 
But  he  couldn't  wait.  Come,  Ellen,  love,  we'll  have  ours.  How 
will  he  ever  get  back  again  !  it  will  be  so  deep  by  that  time." 

There  was  a  cloud  on  her  fair  brow  for  a  few  minutes,  but  it 
passed  away,  and  quiet  and  calm  as  ever  she  sat  down  at  the  little 
tea-table  with  Ellen.  From  her  face  all  shadows  seemed  to  have 
flown  for  ever.  Hungry  and  happy,  she  enjoyed  Margery's  good 
bread  and  butter,  and  the  nice  honey,  and  from  time  to  time  cast 
very  bright  looks  at  the  dear  face  on  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
which  could  not  help  looking  bright  in  reply.  Ellen  was  well 
pleased  for  her  part  that  the  third  seat  was  empty.  But  Alice 
looked  thoughtful  sometimes  as  a  gust  of  wind  swept  by,  and  once 
or  twice  went  to  the  window. 

After  tea  Alice  took  out  her  work,  and  Ellen  put  herself  con 
tentedly  down  on  the  rug,  and  sat  leaning  back  against  her.  Si 
lent  for  very  contentment  for  a  while,  she  sat  looking  gravely  into 
the  fire ;  while  Alice's  fingers  drove  a  little  steel  hook  through  and 
through  some  purse  silk  in  a  mysterious  fashion  that  no  eye  could 
be  quick  enough  to  follow,  and  with  such  skill  and  steadiness  that 
the  work  grew  fast  under  her  hand. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  269 

"  I  had  such  a  funny  dream  last  night,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Did  you?  what  about?" 

"  It  was  pleasant  too,"  said  Ellen,  twisting  herself  round  to  talk, 

"but  very  queer.     I  dreamed  about  that  gentleman  that  was  so 

kind  to  me  on  board  the  boat — you  know? — I  told  you  about 
him  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember." 

"  Well,  I  dreamed  of  seeing  him  somewhere,  I  don't  know  where, 
—and  he  didn't  look  a  bit  like  himself,  only  I  knew  who  it  was; 
and  I  thought  I  didn't  like  to  speak  to  him  for  fear  he  wouldn't 
know  me,  but  then  I  thought  he  did,  and  came  up   and  took   my 
hand,  and  seemed  so  glad  to  see  me ;  and  he  asked  me  if  I  had 
been  pious  since  he  saw  me." 
Ellen  stopped  to  laugh. 
"  And  what  did  you  tell  him  ?" 

"I  told   him   yes.     And   then    I    thought   he    seemed  so  very 
pleased." 

"  Dreamers  do  not  always  keep  close  to  the  truth,  it  seems." 
"/didn't,"   said  Ellen.     "But  then  I  thought  I  had,  in  my 
dream." 

"  Had  what?  kept  close  to  the  truth?" 
"  No,  no  ; — been  what  he  said." 
"  Dreams  are  queer  things,"  said  Alice. 

"  I  have  been  far  enough  from  being  good  to-day,"  said  Ellen, 
thoughtfully. 

"  How  so,  my  dear?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Alice — because  I  never  am  good,  I  suppose." 
"  But  what  has  been  the  matter  to-day  ?" 

"  Why,  those  apples !  I  thought  I  would  come  here  so  early, 
and  then  when  I  found  I  must  do  all  those  baskets  of  apples  first 
I  was  very  ill-humoured ;  and  aunt  Fortune  saw  I  was  and  said 
something  that  made  me  worse.  And  I  tried  as  hard  as  I  could  to 
get  through  before  dinner,  and  when  I  found  I  couldn't  I  said  I 
wouldn't  come  to  dinner,  but  she  made  me,  and  that  vexed  me 
more,  and  I  wouldn't  eat  scarcely  any  thing,  and  then  when  I  got 
back  to  the  apples  again  I  sewed  so  hard  that  I  ran  the  needle  into 
my  finger  erer  so  far, — see  there  ?  what  a  mark  it  left  ? — and  aunt 
Fortune  said  it  served  me  right  and  she  was  glad  of  it,  and  that 
made  me  angry.  I  knew  I  was  wrong  afterwards,  and  I  was  very 
sorry.  Isn't  it  strange,  dear  Alice,  I  should  do  so  when  I  have 
resolved  so  hard  I  wouldn't?" 

"  Not  very,  my  darling,  as  long  as  we  have  such  evil  hearts  as 
ours  are — it  is  strange  they  should  be  so  evil." 

"I  told  aunt  Fortune  afterwards  I  was  sorry,  but  ^ she  said 
c  actions  speak  louder  than  words,  and  words  are  cheap.'  If  she 
only  wouldn't  say  that  just  as  she  does !  it  does  worry  me  so." 

23* 


270  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"Patience!"  said  Alice,  passing  her  hand  over  Ellen's  hair  as 
she  sat  looking  sorrowfully  up  at  her ;  "  you  must  try  not  to  give 
her  occasion.  Never  mind  what  she  says,  and  overcome  evil  with 
good." 

"  That  is  just  what  mamma  said!"  exclaimed  Ellen,  rising  to 
throw  her  arms  round  Alice's  neck,  and  kissing  her  with  all  the 
energy  of  love,  gratitude,  repentance,  and  sorrowful  recollection. 

"  Oh,  what  do  you  think  !"  she  said  suddenly,  her  face  changing 
again, — "  I  got  my  letter  last  night !" 

"  Your  letter !" 

"  Yes,  the  letter  the  old  man  brought — don't  you  know?  and  it 
was  written  on  the  ship,  and  there  was  only  a  little  bit  from 
mamma,  and  a  little  bit  from  papa,  but  so  good  !  papa  says  she  is 
a  great  deal  better,  and  he  has  no  doubt  he  will  bring  her  back  in 
the  spring  or  summer  quite  well  again.  Isn't  that  good?" 

"  Very  good,  dear  Ellen.     I  am  very  glad  for  you." 

"  It  was  on  my  bed  last  night.  I  can't  think  how  it  got  there, 
— and  I  don't  care  either,  so  long  as  I  have  got  it.  What  are  you 
making?" 

"  A  purse,"  said  Alice,  laying  it  on  the  table  for  her  inspection. 

"  It  will  be  very  pretty.     Is  the  other  end  to  be  like  this?" 

"  Yes,  and  these  tassels  to  finish  them  off." 

"Oh,  that's  beautiful,"  said  Ellen,  laying  them  down  to  try 
the  effect ; — "  and  these  rings  to  fasten  it  with.  Is  it  black  ?" 

"  No,  dark  green.     I  am  making  it  for  my  brother  John." 

"  A  Christmas  present !"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

"  I  am  afraid  not;  he  will  hardly  be  here  by  that  time.  It  may 
do  for  New  Year." 

"  How  pleasant  it  must  be  to  make  Christmas  and  New  Year 
presents!"  said  Ellen,  after  she  had  watched  Alice's  busy  fingers 
for  a  few  minutes.  "  I  wish  I  could  make  something  for  some 
body.  Oh,  I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  make  something  for  Mr.  Van 
Brunt!  Oh,  I  should  like  to  very  much." 

Alice  smiled  at  Ellen's  very  wide-open  eyes. 

"  What  could  you  make  for  him  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — that's  the  thing.  He  keeps  his  money  in  his 
pocket, — and  besides,  I  don't  know  how  to  make  purses." 

"  There  are  other  things  besides  purses.  How  would  a  watch- 
guard  do  ?  Does  he  wear  a  watch  ?" 

11 1  don't  know  whether  he  does  or  not ;  he  doesn't  every  day, 
I  am  sure,  but  I  don't  know  about  Sundays." 

"  Then  we  won't  venture  upon  that.  You  might  knit  him  a 
nightcap." 

"  A  nightcap  ! — you're  joking,  Alice,  aren't  you?  I  don't  think 
a  nightcap  would  be  pretty  for  a  Christinas  present,  do  you?" 

"Well,  what  shall  we  do,  Ellen?"  said  Alice   laughing.     "I 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  271 

made  a  pocket-pincushion  for  papa  once  when  I  was  a  little  girl, 
but  I  fancy  Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  not  know  exactly  what  use  to 
make  of  such  a  convenience.  I  don't  think  you  could  fail  to 
please  him  though,  with  any  thing  you  should  hit  upon." 

"  I  have  got  a  dollar,"  said  Ellen,  "  to  buy  stuff  with ;  it  came 
in  my  letter  last  night.  If  I  only  knew  what !" 

Down  she  went  on  the  rug  again,  and  Alice  worked  in  silence, 
while  Ellen's  thoughts  ran  over  every  possible  and  impossible 
article  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  dress. 

"I  have  some  nice  pieces  of  fine  linen,"  said  Alice;  "suppose 
I  cut  out  a  collar  for  him,  and  you  can  make  it  and  stitch  it,  and 
then  Margery  will  starch  and  iron  it  for  you,  all  ready  to  give  to 
him.  How  will  that  do?  Can  you  stitch  well  enough  ?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  guess  I  can,"  said  Ellen.  "Oh,  thank  you,  dear 
Alice  !  you  are  the  best  help  that  ever  was.  Will  he  like  that,  do 
you  think?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  will — very  much." 

"  Then  that  will  do  nicely,"  said  Ellen,  much  relieved.  "  And 
now  what  do  you  think  about  Nancy's  Bible  ?" 

"Nothing  could  be  better,  only  that  I  am  afraid  Nancy  would 
either  sell  it  for  something  else,  or  let  it  go  to  destruction  very 
quickly.  I  never  heard  of  her  spending  five  minutes  over  a  book, 
and  the  Bible,  I  am  afraid,  last  of  all." 

"  But  I  think,"  said  Ellen  slowly,  "  I  think  she  would  not  spoil  it 
or  sell  it  either,  if  /gave  it  to  her." 

And  she  told  Alice  about  Nancy's  asking  for  the  kiss  last  night. 

"  That's  the  most  hopeful  thing  I  have  heard  about  Nancy  for 
a  long  time,"  said  Alice.  "  We  will  get  her  the  Bible  by  all  means, 
my  dear, — a  nice  one, — and  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  persuade 
her  to  read  it." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  went  to  the  glass  door.  Ellen  followed 
her,  and  they  looked  out  into  the  night.  It  was  very  dark.  She 
opened  the  door  a  moment,  but  the  wind  drove  the  snow  into  their 
faces,  and  they  were  glad  to  shut  it  again. 

"It's  almost  as  bad  as  the  night  we  were  out,  isn't  it?"  said 
Ellen. 

"Not  such  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  I  think,  but  it  is  very  windy 
and  cold.  Papa  will  be  late  getting  home." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  are  worried,  dear  Alice." 

"  I  am  not  much  worried,  love.  I  have  often  known  papa  out 
late  before,  but  this  is  rather  a  hard  night  for  a  long  walk.  Come, 
we'll  try  to  make  a  good  use  of  the  time  while  we  are  waiting. 
Suppose  you  read  to  me  while  I  work." 

She  took  down  a  volume  of  Cowper  and  found  his  account  of  the 
three  pet  hares.  Ellen  read  it,  and  then  several  of  his  smaller 
pieces  of  poetry.  Then  followed  a  long  talk  about  hares  and  other 


272  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

animals ;  about  Cowper  and  his  friends  and  his  way  of  life.  Time 
passed  swiftly  away ;  it  was  getting  late. 

"How  weary  papa  will  be,"  said  Alice,  "he  has  had  nothing  to 
eat  since  dinner.  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  Ellen,"  she  exclaimed 
as  she  threw  her  work  down,  "  we'll  make  some  chocolate  for  him 
— that'll  be  the  very  thing.  Ellen,  dear,  run  into  the  kitchen  and 
ask  Margery  to  bring  me  the  little  chocolate  pot  and  a  pitcher  of 
night's  milk." 

Margery  brought  them.  The  pot  was  set  on  the  coals,  and  Alice 
had  cut  up  the  chocolate  that  it  might  melt  the  quicker.  Ellen 
watched  it  with  great  interest,  till  it  was  melted,  and  the  boiling 
water  stirred  in,  and  the  whole  was  simmering  quietly  on  the  coals. 

"Is  it  done  now?" 

"  No,  it  must  boil  a  little  while,  and  then  the  milk  must  be  put 
in,  and  when  that  has  boiled,  the  eggs — and  then  it  will  be  done." 

With  Margery  and  the  chocolate  pot  the  cat  had  walked  in. 
Ellen  immediately  endeavoured  to  improve  his  acquaintance  ;  that 
was  not  so  easy.  The  Captain  chose  the  corner  of  the  rug  furthest 
from  her,  in  spite  of  all  her  calling  and  coaxing,  paying  her  no 
more  attention  than  if  he  had  not  heard  her.  Ellen  crossed  over 
to  him  and  began  most  tenderly  and  respectfully  to  stroke  his  head 
and  back,  touching  his  soft  fur  with  great  care.  Parry  presently 
lifted  up  his  head  uneasily,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  wonder  how 
long  this  is  going  to  last," — and  finding  there  was  every  prospect 
of  its  lasting  some  time,  he  fairly  got  up  and  walked  over  to  the 
other  end  of  the  rug.  Ellen  followed  him  and  tried  again,  with 
exactly  the  same  effect. 

"  Well  cat !  you  aren't  very  kind,"  said  she  at  length  ; — "  Alice, 
he  won't  let  me  have  any  thing  to  do  with  him  !" 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear,  he  is  so  unsociable ;  he  is  a  cat  of  very 
bad  taste — that  is  all  I  can  say." 

"  But  I  never  saw  such  a  cat !  he  won't  let  me  touch  him  ever 
so  softly  ;  he  lifts  up  his  head  and  looks  as  cross  ! — and  then  walks 
off." 

"  He  don't  know  you  yet,  and  truth  is,  Parry  has  no  fancy  for 
extending  the  circle  of  his  acquaintance.  Oh,  kitty,  kitty!"  said 
Alice,  fondly  stroking  his  head,  "why  don't  you  behave  better?" 

Parry  lifted  his  head,  and  opened  and  shut  his  eyes,  with  an 
expression  of  great  satisfaction  very  different  from  that  he  had 
bestowed  on  Ellen.  Ellen  gave  him  up^for  the  present  as  a  hope 
less  case,  and  turned  her  attention  to  the  chocolate,  which  had  now 
received  the  milk  and  must  be  watched  lest  it  should  run  over, 
which  Alice  said  it  would  very  easily  do  when  once  it  began  to  boil 
again.  Meanwhile  Ellen  wanted  to  know  what  chocolate  was  made 
of — where  it  came  from — where  it  was  made  best, — burning  her 
little  face  in  the  fire  all  the  time  lest  the  pot  should  boil  over  while 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


273 


she  was  not  looking.  At  last  the  chocolate  began  to  gather  a  rich 
froth,  and  Ellen  called  out, 

"  Oh,  Alice  !  look  here  quick  !  here's  the  shape  of  the  spoon  on 
the  top  of  the  chocolate  !  do  look  at  it." 

An  iron  spoon  was  in  the  pot,  and  its  shape  was  distinctly  raised 
on  the  smooth  frothy  surface.  As  they  were  both  bending  forward 


to  watch  it,  Alice  waiting  to  take  the  pot  off  the  moment  it  began 
to  boil,  Ellen  heard  a  slight  click  of  the  lock  of  the  door,  and 
turning  her  head  was  a  little  startled  to  see  a  stranger  there,  stand 
ing  still  at  the  far  end  of  the  room.  She  touched  Alice's  arm 
without  looking  round.  But  Alice  started  to  her  feet  with  a  slight 
scream,  and  in  another  minute  had  thrown  her  arms  round  the 


274  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

stranger  and  was  locked  in  his.  Ellen  knew  what  it  meant  now 
very  well.  She  turned  away  as  if  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  what 
was  going  on  there,  and  lifted  the  pot  of  chocolate  off  the  fire  with 
infinite  difficulty ;  but  it  was  going  to  boil  over,  and  she  would 
have  broken  her  back  rather  than  not  do  it.  And  then  she  stood 
with  her  back  to  the  brother  and  sister,  looking  into  the  fire,  as  if 
she  was  determined  not  to  see  them  till  she  couldn't  help  it.  But 
what  she  was  thinking  of,  Ellen  could  not  have  told,  then  or  after 
wards.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes,  though  it  seemed  to  her  a  great 
many,  before  they  drew  near  the  fire.  Curiosity  began  to  be  strong, 
and  she  looked  round  to  see  if  the  new-comer  was  like  Alice.  No, 
not  a  bit, — how  different ! — darker  hair  and  eyes — not  a  bit  like 
her ;  handsome  enough,  too,  to  be  her  brother.  And  Alice  did  not 
look  like  herself;  her  usually  calm  sweet  face  was  quivering  and 
sparkling  now, — lit  up  as  Ellen  had  never  seen  it, — oh,  how 
bright !  Poor  Ellen  herself  had  never  looked  duller  in  her  life  ; 
and  when  Alice  said  gayly,  "This  is  my  brother,  Ellen," — her  con 
fusion  of  thoughts  and  feelings  resolved  themselves  into  a  flood  of 
tears  ;  she  sprang  and  hid  her  face  in  Alice's  arms. 

Ellen's  were  not  the  only  eyes  that  were  full  just  then,  but  of 
course  she  didn't  know  that. 

"  Come,  Ellen,"  whispered  Alice,  presently,  "  look  up  ! — what  kind 
of  a  welcome  is  this?  come  ! — we  have  no  business  with  tears  just 
now, — won't  you  run  into  the  kitchen  for  me,  love,"  she  added 
more  low,  "and  ask  Margery  to  bring  some  bread  and  butter,  and 
any  thing  else  she  has  that  is  fit  for  a  traveller?" 

Glad  of  an  escape,  Ellen  dartejl  away  that  her  wet  face  might 
not  be  seen.  The  brother  and  sister  were  busily  talking  when  she 
returned. 

"John,"  said  Alice,  "this  is  my  little  sister  that  I  wrote  you 
about — Ellen  Montgomery.  Ellen,  this  is  your  brother  as  well  as 
mine,  you  know." 

"Stop!  stop!"  said  her  brother.  "Miss  Ellen,  this  sister  of 
mine  is  giving  us  away  to  each  other  at  a  great  rate, — I  should  like 
to  know  first  what  you  say  to  it.  Are  you  willing  to  take  a  strange 
brother  upon  her  recommendation  ?" 

Half  inclined  to  laugh,  Ellen  glanced  at  the  speaker's  face,  but 
meeting  the  grave  though  somewhat  comical  look  of  two  very  keen 
eyes,  she  looked  down  again,  and  merely  answered  "  yes." 

"  Then  if  I  am  to  be  your  brother  you  must  give  me  a  brother's 
right,  you  know,"  said  he,  drawing  her  gently  to  him,  and  kissing 
her  gravely  on  the  lips. 

Probably  Ellen  thought  there  was  a  difference  between  John 
Humphreys  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  or  the  young  gentlemen  of  the 
apple-paring ;  for  though  she  coloured  a  good  deal,  she  made  no 
objection  and  showed  no  displeasure.  Alice  and  she  now  busied 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  275 

themselves  with  getting  the  cups  and  saucers  out  of  the  cupboard, 
and  setting  the  table  ;  but  all  that  evening,  through  whatever  was 
doing,  Ellen's  eyes  sought  the  stranger  as  if  by  fascination.  She 
watched  him  whenever  she  could  without  being  noticed.  At  first 
she  was  in  doubt  what  to  think  of  him  ;  she  was  quite  sure  from 
that  one  look  into  his  eyes  that  he  was  a  person  to  be  feared ; — 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that;  as  to  the  rest  she  didn't  know. 

"  And  what  have  my  two  sisters  been  doing  to  spend  the  even 
ing  ?' '  said  John  Humphreys,  one  time  that  Alice  was  gone  into 
the  kitchen  on  some  kind  errand  for  him. 

"  Talking,  sir,"— said  Ellen  doubtfully. 

"  Talking !  this  whole  evening  ?  Alice  must  have  improved. 
What  have  you  been  talking  about  ?" 

"  Hares — and  dogs — and  about  Mr.  Cowper — and  some  other 
things, ' ' 

'*  Private  affairs,  eh?"  said  he,  with  again  the  look  Ellen  had 
seen  before. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  nodding  and  laughing. 

"And  how  came  you  upon  Mr.  Cowper?" 

"Sir?" 

"  How  came  you  to  be  talking  about  Mr.  Cowper?" 

"  I  was  reading  about  his  hares,  and  about  John  Gilpin  ;  and 
then  Alice  told  me  about  Mr.  Cowper  and  his  friends." 

"  Well  I  don't  know  after  all  that  you  have  had  a  pleasanter 
evening  than  I  have  had,"  said  her  questioner,  "though  I  have 
been  riding  hard,  with  the  cold  wind  in  my  face,  and  the  driving 
snow  doing  all  it  could  to  discomfit  me.  I  have  had  this  very 
bright  fireside  before  me  all  the  way." 

He  fell  into  a  fit  of  grave  musing  which  lasted  till  Alice  came 
in.  Then  suddenly  fell  a  fumbling  in  his  pocket. 

"  Here's  a  note  for  you,"  said  he,  throwing  it  into  her  lap. 

"  A  note  ! — Sophia  Marshman  ! — where  did  you  get  it?" 

"  From  her  own  hand.  Passing  there  to-day  I  thought  I  must 
stop  a  moment  to  speak  to  them,  and  had  no  notion  of  doing  more  ; 
but  Mrs.  Marshman  was  very  kind,  and  Miss  Sophia  in  despair,  so 
the  end  of  it  was  I  dismounted  and  went  in  to  await  the  preparing 
of  that  billet,  while  my  poor  nag  was  led  off  to  the  stables  and  a 
fresh  horse  supplied  me, — I  fancy  that  tells  you  on  what  conditions." 

"Charming!"  said  Alice,  "to  spend  Christmas, — I  am  very 
glad ;  I  should  like  to  very  much — with  you  dear.  If  I  can  only 
get  papa — but  I  think  he  will ;  it  will  do  him  a  great  deal  of  good. 
To-morrow,  she  says,  we  must  come ;  but  I  doubt  the  weather  will 
not  let  us  ;  we  shall  see." 

"  I  rode  Prince  Charlie  down.  He  is  a  good  traveller,  and  the 
sleighing  will  be  fine  if  the  snow  be  not  too  deep.  The  old  sleigh 
is  in  being  yet,  I  suppose?" 


276  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  in  good  order.  Ellen  what  are  you  looking  so  grave 
about?  you  are  going  too." 

"  I !"  said  Ellen,  a  great  spot  of  crimson  coming  in  each  cheek. 

uTo  be  sure;  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  leave  you  behind?" 

"But " 

"But  what?" 

"  There  won't  be  room." 

"  Room  in  the  sleigh?  Then  we'll  put  John  on  Prince  Charlie, 
and  let  him  ride  there,  postilion-fashion." 

"But— Mr.  Humphreys?" 

"  He  always  goes  on  horseback  ;  he  will  ride  Sharp  or  old  John." 

In  great  delight  Ellen  gave  Alice  an  earnest  kiss ;  and  then  they 
all  gathered  round  the  table  to  take  their  chocolate,  or  rather  to 
see  John  take  his,  which  his  sister  would  not  let  him  wait  for  any 
longer.  The  storm  had  ceased,  and  through  the  broken  clouds  the 
moon  and  stars  were  looking  out,  so  they  were  no  more  uneasy  for 
Mr.  Humphreys  and  expected  him  every  moment.  Still  the  supper 
was  begun  and  ended  without  him,  and  they  had  drawn  round  the 
fire  again  before  his  welcome  step  was  at  last  heard. 

There  was  new  joy  then ;  new  embracing,  and  questioning  and 
answering  ;  the  little  circle  opened  to  let  him  in  ;  and  Alice  brought 
the  corner  of  the  table  to  his  side,  and  poured  him  out  a  cup  of 
hot  chocolate.  But  after  drinking  half  of  it,  and  neglecting  the 
eatables  beside  him,  he  sat  with  one  hand  in  the  other,  his  arm 
leaning  on  his  knee,  with  a  kind  of  softened  gravity  upon  his  coun 
tenance. 

"  Is  your  chocolate  right,  papa?"   said  Alice  at  length. 

"  Very  good,  my  daughter  !" 

He  finished  the  cup,  but  then  went  back  to  his  old  attitude  and 
look.  Gradually  they  ceased  their  conversation,  and  waited  with 
respectful  affection  and  some  curiosity  for  him  to  speak  ;  something 
of  more  than  common  interest  seemed  to  be  in  his  thoughts.  He 
sat  looking  earnestly  in  the  fire,  sometimes  with  almost  a  smile  on 
his  face,  and  gently  striking  one  hand  in  the  palm  of  the  other. 
And  sitting  so,  without  moving  or  stirring  his  eyes,  he  said  at  last, 
as  though  the  words  had  been  forced  from  him,  "  Thanks  be  unto 
God  for  his  unspeakable  gift !" 

As  he  added  no  more,  Alice  said  gently,  "  What  have  you  seen 
to-night,  papa  ?" 

He  roused  himself  and  pushed  the  empty  cup  toward  her. 

"  A  little  more,  my  daughter : — I  have  seen  the  fairest  sight, 
almost,  a  mail  can  see  in  this  world.  I  have  seen  a  little  ransomed 
spirit  go  home  to  its  rest.  Oh,  that  '  unspeakable  gift !'  " — 

He  pressed  his  lips  thoughtfully  together  while  he  stirred  his 
chocolate ;  but  having  drunk  it  he  pushed  the  table  from  him  and 
drew  up  his  chair. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  277 

"  You  had  a  long  way  to  go,  papa,"  observed  Alice  again. 

«  Yes — a  long  way  there — I  don't  know  what  it  was  coming 
home ;  I  never  thought  of  it.  How  independent  the  spirit  can  be 
of  externals !  I  scarcely  felt  the  storm  to-night." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  his  son. 

"  I  had  a  long  way  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys ;  "  that  poor 
woman — -that  Mrs.  Dolan — she  lives  in  the  woods  behind  the 
Cat's  Back,  a  mile  beyond  Carra-carra,  or  more — it  seemed  a  long 
mile  to-night ;  and  a  more  miserable  place  I  never  saw  yet.  A 
little  rickety  shanty,  the  storm  was  hardly  kept  out  of  it,  and  no 
appearance  of  comfort  or  nicety  anywhere  or  in  any  thing.  There 
were  several  men  gathered  round  the  fire,  and  in  a  corner,  on  a 
miserable  kind  of  bed,  I  saw  the  sick  child.  His  eye  met  mine 
the  moment  I  went  in,  and  I  thought  I  had  seen  him  before,  but 
couldn't  at  first  make  out  where.  Do  you  remember,  Alice,  a 
little  ragged  boy,  with  a  remarkably  bright  pleasant  face,  who  has 
planted  himself  regularly  every  Sunday  morning  for  some  time 
past  in  the  south  aisle  of  the  church,  and  stood  there  all  service 
time?" 

Alice  said  no. 

"I  have  noticed  him  often,  and  noticed  him  as  paying  a  most 
fixed  and  steady  attention.  I  have  repeatedly  tried  to  catch  him 
on  his  way  out  of  church,  to  speak  to  him,  but  always  failed.  I 
asked  him  to  night,  when  I  first  went  in,  if  he  knew  me.  *  I  do, 
sir,'  he  said.  I  asked  him  where  he  had  seen  me.  He  said,  *  In 
the  church  beyarit.'  'So,'  said  I,  '  you  are  the  little  boy  I  have 
seen  there  so  regularly ;  what  did  you  come  there  for?" 

"  *  To  hear  yer  honor  spake  the  good  words.' 

"  '  What  good  words  ?'  said  I ;  «  about  what?' 

"  He  said,  *  About  Him  that  was  slain  and  washed  us  from  our 
sins  in  his  own  blood.' 

" '  And  do  you  think  he  has  washed  away  yours  ?'  I  said. 

"  He  smiled  at  me  very  expressively.  I  suppose  it  was  some 
what  difficult  for  him  to  speak ;  and  to  tell  the  truth  so  it  was  for 
me,  for  I  was  taken  by  surprise ;  but  the  people  in  the  hut  had 
gathered  round,  and  I  wished  to  hear  him  say  more,  for  their 
sake  as  well  as  my  own.  I  asked  him  why  he  thought  his  sins 
were  washed  away.  He  gave  me  for  answer  part  of  the  verse, 
'Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,'  but  did  not  finish  it. 
*  Do  you  think  you  are  very  sick,  John  ?'  I  asked. 

"  '  I  am,  sir,'  he  said, — '  I'll  not  be  long  here.' 

" '  And  where  do  you  think  you  are  going  then  ?'  said  I. 

"  He  lifted  one  little  thin  bony  arm  from  under  his  coverlid, 
and  through  all  the  dirt  and  pallor  of  his  face  the  smile  of  heaven 
I  am  sure  was  on  it,  as  he  looked  and  pointed  upward  and 
answered,  *  Jesus  1' 

21 


278  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  asked  him  presently,  as  soon  as  I  could,  what  he  had  wished 
to  see  me  for.  I  don't  know  whether  he  heard  me  or  not ;  he  lay 
with  his  eyes  half  closed,  breathing  with  difficulty.  I  doubted 
whether  he  would  speak  again ;  and  indeed,  for  myself,  I  had 
heard  and  seen  enough  to  satisfy  me  entirely  j — for  the  sake  of 
the  group  around  the  bed  I  could  have  desired  something  further. 
They  kept  perfect  stillness ;  awed,  I  think,  by  a  profession  of 
faith  such  as  they  had  never  heard  before.  They  and  I  stood 
watching  him,  and  at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes,  not  more  than 
ten  or  fifteen,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  with  sudden  life  and  strength 
rose  up  half  way  in  bed,  exclaiming,  '  Thanks  be  to  God  for  his 
unspeakable  gift !' — and  then  fell  back — just  dead." 

The  old  gentleman's  voice  was  husky  as  he  finished,  for  Alice 
and  Ellen  were  both  weeping,  and  John  Humphreys  had  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands. 

"I  have  felt,"  said  the  old  gentleman  presently, — "as  if  I 
could  have  shouted  out  his  words — his  dying  words — all  the  way 
as  I  came  home.  My  little  girl,"  said  he,  drawing  Ellen  to  him, 
"  do  you  know  the  meaning  of  those  sweet  things  of  which  little 
John  Dolan's  mind  was  so  full  ?" 

Ellen  did  not  speak. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  a  sinner  ? — and  what  it  is  to  be 
a  forgiven  child  of  God  ?" 

"  1  believe  I  do,  sir,"  Ellen  said. 

He  kissed  her  forehead  and  blessed  her  ;  and  then  said,  "  Let 
us  pray." 

It  was  late ;  the  servants  had  gone  to  bed,  and  they  were  alone. 
Oh,  what  a  thanksgiving  Mr.  Humphreys  poured  forth  for  that 
''unspeakable  gift;" — that  they,  every  one  there,  had  been  made 
to  know  and  rejoice  in  it;  for  the  poor  little  boy,  rich  in  faith,  who 
had  just  gone  home  in  the  same  rejoicing;  for  their  own  loved 
one  who  was  there  already ;  and  for  the  hope  of  joining  them 
soon  in  safety  and  joy,  to  sing  with  them  the  "  new  song"  for  ever 
and  ever. 

There  were  no  dry  eyes  in  the  room.  And  when  they  arose, 
Mr.  Humpreys,  after  giving  his  daughter  the  usual  kiss  for  good 
night,  gave  one  to  Ellen  too,  which  he  had  never  done  before,  and 
then  going  to  his  son  and  laying  both  hands  on  his  shoulders, 
kissed  his  cheek  also  ;  then  silently  took  his  candle  and  went. 

They  lingered  a  little  while  after  he  was  gone,  standing  round 
the  fire  as  if  loth  to  part,  but  in  grave  silence,  each  busy  with  his 
own  thoughts.  Alice's  ended  by  fixing  on  her  brother,  for  laying 
her  hand  and  her  head  carelessly  on  his  shoulder,  she  said,  "And 
so  you  have  been  well  all  this  time,  John  ?" 

He  turned  his  face  toward  her  without  speaking,  but  Ellen  as 
well  as  his  sister  saw  the  look  of  love  with  which  he  answered  her 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  279 

question,  rather  of  endearment  than  inquiry ;  and  from  that  min 
ute  Ellen's  mind  was  made  up  as  to  the  doubt  which  had  troubled 
her.  She  went  to  bed  quite  satisfied  that  her  new  brother  was  a 
decided  acquisition. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  night  was  winter  in  his  roughest  inood, 

The  morning  sharp  and  clear  .  .  . 

.  .  .  The  vault  is  blue 

Without  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 

The  dazzling  splendour  of  the  scene  below. 

COWPER. 

BEFORE  Ellen's  eyes  were  open  the  next  morning — almost  before 
she  awoke — the  thought  of  the  Christmas  visit,  the  sleigh-ride, 
John  Humphreys,  and  the  weather,  all  rushed  into  her  mind  at 
once,  and  started  her  half  up  in  the  bed  to  look  out  of  the  window. 
Well  frosted  the  panes  of  glass  were,  but  at  the  corners  and  edges 
unmistakable  bright  gleams  of  light  came  in. 

"  Oh,  Alice,  it's  beautiful!"  exclaimed  Ellen;  Ci  look  how  the 
sun  is  shining!  and  'tisn't  very  cold.  Are  we  going  to-day?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,  Ellie,  but  we  shall  know  very  soon.  We'll 
settle  that  at  breakfast." 

At  breakfast  it  was  settled.  They  were  to  go,  and  set  off  di 
rectly.  Mr.  Humphreys  could  not  go  with  them,  because  he  had 
promised  to  bury  little  John  Dolan ;  the  priest  had  declared  Tie 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  and  the  poor  mother  had  applied 
to  Mr.  Humphreys,  as  being  the  clergyman  her  child  had  most 
trusted  and  loved  to  hear.  It  seemed  that  little  John  had  pur- 
suaded  her  out  of  half  her  prejudices  by  his  affectionate  talk  and 
blameless  behaviour  during  some  time  past.  Mr.  Humphreys, 
therefore,  must  stay  at  home  that  day.  He  promised,  however,  to 
follow  them  the  next,  and  would  bv  no  means  permit  them  to  wait 
for  him.  He  said  the  day  was  fine,  and  they  must  improve  it ; 
and  he  should  be  pleased  to  have  them  with  their  friends  as  long  as 
possible. 

So  the  little  travelling  bag  was  stuffed,  with  more  things  than  it 
seemed  possible  to  get  into  it.  Among  the  rest  Ellen  brought  her 
little  red  Bible,  which  Alice  decided  should  go  in  John's  pocket; 
— the  little  carpet-bag  could  not  take  it.  Ellen  was  afraid  it  never 
would  be  locked.  By  dint  of  much  pushing  and  crowding,  how 
ever,  locked  it  was  ;  and  they  made  themselves  ready.  Over  Ellen's 
merino  dress  and  coat  went  an  old  fur  tippet ;  a  little  shawl  was 
tied  round  her  neck ;  her  feet  were  cased  in  a  pair  of  warm  moc- 


280  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

casins,  which  belonging  to  Margery  were  of  course  a  world  too  big 
for  her,  but  "  any  thing  but  cold,"  as  their  owner  said.  Her  nice 
blue  hood  would  protect  her  head  well,  and  Alice  gave  her  a  green 
veil  to  save  her  eyes  from  the  glare  of  the  snow.  When  Ellen 
shuffled  out  of  Alice's  room  in  this  trim,  John  gave  her  one  of  his 
grave  looks,  and  saying  she  looked  like  Mother  Bunch,  begged  to 
know  how  she  expected  to  get  to  the  sleigh ;  he  said  she  would 
want  a,  footman  indeed  to  wait  upon  her,  to  pick  up  her  slippers,  if 
she  went  in  that  fashion.  However  he  ended  by  picking  her  up, 
carried  her  and  set  her  down  safely  in  the  sleigh.  Alice  followed, 
and  in  another  minute  they  were  off. 

Ellen's  delight  was  unbounded.  Presently  they  turned  round  a 
corner  and  left  the  house  behind  out  of  sight;  and  they  were 
speeding  away  along  a  road  that  was  quite  new  to  her.  Ellen's 
heart  felt  like  dancing  for  joy.  Nobody  would  have  thought  it, 
she  sat  so  still  and  quiet  between  Alice  and  her  brother ;  but  her 
eyes  were  very  bright  as  they  looked  joyously  about  her,  and  every 
now  and  then  she  could  not  help  smiling  to  herself.  Nothing  was 
wanting  to  the  pleasure  of  that  ride.  The  day  was  of  winter's 
fairest ;  the  blue  sky  as  clear  as  if  clouds  had  never  dimmed  or 
crossed  it.  None  crossed  it  now.  It  was  cold,  but  not  bitterly 
cold,  nor  windy ;  the  sleigh  skimmed  along  over  the  smooth  frozen 
surface  of  the  snow  as  if  it  was  no  trouble  at  all  to  Prince  Charlie 
to  draw  it ;  and  the  sleigh-bells  jingled  and  rung,  the  very  music 
for  Ellen's  thoughts  to  dance  to.  And  then  with  somebody  she 
liked  very  much  on  each  side  of  her,  and  pleasures  untold  in  the 
prospect,  no  wonder  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  could  riot  hold  any  more. 
The  green  veil  could  not  be  kept  on,  every  thing  looked  so  beauti 
ful  in  that  morning's  sun.  The  long  wide  slopes  of  untrodden  and 
unspotted  snow  too  bright  sometimes  for  the  eye  to  look  at ;  the 
shadows  that  here  and  there  lay  upon  it,  of  woodland  and  scattered 
trees  ;  the  very  brown  fences,  and  the  bare  arms  and  branches  of 
the  leafless  trees  showing  sharp  against  the  white  ground  and  clear 
bright  heaven ; — all  seemed  lovely  in  her  eyes.  For 

"  It  is  content  of  heart 
Gives  nature  power  to  please." 

She  could  see  nothing  that  was  not  pleasant.  And  besides  they 
were  in  a  nice  little  red  sleigh,  with  a  warm  buffalo  robe,  and  Prince 
Charlie  was  a  fine  spirited  grey  that  scarcely  ever  needed  to  be 
touched  with  the  whip ;  at  a  word  of  encouragement  from  his 
driver  he  would  toss  his  head  and  set  forward  with  new  life,  making 
all  the  bells  jingle  again.  To  be  sure  she  would  have  been  just  as 
happy  if  they  had  had  the  poorest  of  vehicles  on  runners,  with  old 
John  instead ;  but  still  it  was  pleasanter  so. 

Their  road  at  first  was  through  a  fine  undulating  country  like 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  281 

that  between  the  Nose  and  Thirlwall ;  farmhouses  and  patches  of 
woodland  scattered  here  and  there.  It  would  seem  that  the  minds 
of  all  the  party  were  full  of  the  same  thoughts,  for  after  a  very 
long  silence  Alice's  first  word,  almost  sigh,  was, 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  world,  John  !" 

"  Beautiful ! — wherever  you  can  escape  from  the  signs  of  man's 
presence  and  influence." 

"Isn't  that  almost  too  strong?"   said  Alice. 

He  shook  his  head,  smiling  somewhat  sadly,  and  touched  Prince 
Charlie,  who  was  indulging  himself  in  a  walk. 

"  But  there  are  bright  exceptions,"  said  Alice. 

"  I  believe  it ; — never  so  much  as  when  I  come  home." 

"  Are  there  none  around  you,  then,  in  whom  you  can  have  con 
fidence  and  sympathy  ?' ' 

He  shook  his  head  again.  "  Not  enough,  Alice.  I  long  for  you 
every  day  of  my  life." 

Alice  turned  her  head  quick  away. 

"It  must  be  so,  my  dear  sister,"  he  said  presently;  "we  can 
never  expect  to  find  it  otherwise.  There  are,  as  you  say,  bright 
exceptions, — many  of  them ;  but  in  almost  all  I  find  some  sad 
want.  We  must  wait  till  we  join  the  spirits  of  the  just  made  per 
fect,  before  we  see  society  that  will  be  all  we  wish  for." 

"What  is  Ellen  thinking  of  all  this  while?"  said  Alice  pres 
ently,  bending  down  to  see  her  face.  "  As  grave  as  a  judge  ! — 
what  are  you  musing  about?" 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Ellen,  "  how  men  could  help  the  world's 
being  beautiful." 

"Don't  trouble  your  little  head  with  that  question,"  said  John 
smiling; — "long  may  it  be  before  you  are  able  to  answer  it. 
Look  at  those  snow-birds  !" 

By  degrees  the  day  wore  on.  About  one  o'clock  they  stopped 
at  a  farm-house  to  let  the  horse  rest,  and  to  stretch  their  own 
limbs,  which  Ellen  for  her  part  was  very  glad  to  do.  The  people 
of  the  house  received  them  with  great  hospitality  and  offered  them 
pumpkin  pies  and  sweet  cider.  Alice  had  brought  a  basket  of 
sandwiches,  and  Prince  Charlie  was  furnished  with  a  bag  of  corn 
Thomas  had  stowed  away  in  the  sleigh  for  him  ;  so  they  were  all 
well  refreshed  and  rested  and  warmed  before  they  set  off  again. 

From  home  to  Ventnor,  Mr.  Marshman's  place,  was  more  than 
thirty  miles,  and  the  longest,  because  the  most  difficult,  part  of 
the  way  was  still  before  them.  Ellen,  however,  soon  became 
sleepy,  from  riding  in  the  keen  air ;  she  was  content  now  to  have 
the  green  veil  over  her  face,  and  sitting  down  in  the  bottom  of  the 
sleigh,  her  head  leaning  against  Alice,  and  covered  well  with  the 
buffalo  robe,  she  slept  in  happy  unconsciousness  of  hill  and  dale, 
wind  and  sun,  and  all  the  remaining  hours  of  the  way. 

24* 


282 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


It  was  drawing  toward  four  o'clock  when  Alice  with  some  dif 
ficulty  roused  her  to  see  the  approach  to  the  house  and  get  wide 
awake  before  they  should  reach  it.  They  turned  from  the  road 
and  entered  by  a  gateway  into  some  pleasure-grounds,  through 
which  a  short  drive  brought  them  to  the  house.  These  grounds 
were  fine,  but  the  wide  lawns  were  a  smooth  spread  of  snow  now  ; 
the  great  skeletons  of  oaks  and  elms  were  bare  and  wintry ;  and 
patches  of  shrubbery  offered  little  but  tufts  and  bunches  of  brown 
twigs  and  stems.  It  might  have  looked  dreary,  but  that  some 


well-grown  evergreens  were  clustered  round  the  house,  and  others 
scattered  here  and  there  relieved  the  eye  ; — a  few  holly  bushes, 
singly  and  in  groups,  proudly  displayed  their  bright  dark  leaves 
and  red  berries ; — and  one  unrivalled  hemlock  on  the  west  threw 
its  graceful  shadow  quite  across  the  lawn,  on  which,  as  on  itself, 
the  white  chimney  tops,  and  the  naked  branches  of  oaks  and  elms, 
was  the  faint  smile  of  the  afternoon  sun. 

A  servant  came  to  take  the  horse,  and  Ellen,  being  first  rid  of 
her  moccasins,  went  with  John  and  Alice  up  the  broad  flight  of 
steps  and  into  the  house.  They  entered  a  large  handsome  square 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  283 

hall  with  a  blue  and  white  stone  floor,  at  one  side  of  which  the 
staircase  went  winding  up.  Here  they  were  met  by  a  young  lady, 
very  lively  and  pleasant-faced,  who  threw  her  arms  round  Alice 
and  kissed  her  a  great  many  times,  seeming  very  glad  indeed  to 
see  her.  She  welcomed  Ellen  too  with  such  warmth  that  she 
began  to  feel  almost  as  if  she  had  been  sent  for  and  expected ; 
told  Mr.  John  he  had  behaved  admirably ;  and  then  led  them  into 
a  large  room  where  was  a  group  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

The  welcome  they  got  here  was  less  lively  but  quite  as  kind. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marshman  were  fine  handsome  old  people,  of  stately 
presence,  and  most  dignified  as  well  as  kind  in  their  deportment. 
Ellen  saw  that  Alice  was  at  home  here,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
daughter  of  the  family.  Mrs.  Marshman  also  stooped  down  and 
kissed  herself,  telling  her  she  was  very  glad  she  had  come,  and 
that  there  were  a  number  of  young  people  there  who  would  be 
much  pleased  to  have  her  help  them  keep  Christmas.  Ellen  could 
not  make  out  yet  who  any  of  the  rest  of  the  company  were. 
John  and  Alice  seemed  to  know  them  all,  and  there  was  a  buzz  of 
pleasant  voices  and  a  great  bustle  of  shaking  hands. 

The  children  had  all  gone  out  to  walk,  and  as  they  had  had 
their  dinner  a  great  while  ago  it  was  decided  that  Ellen  should 
take  hers  that  day  with  the  elder  part  of  the  family.  While  they 
were  waiting  to  be  called  to  dinner  and  every  body  else  was  talking 
and  laughing,  old  Mr.  Marshman  took  notice  of  little  Ellen,  and 
drawing  her  from  Alice's  side  to  his  own,  began  a  long  conversa 
tion.  He  asked  her  a  great  many  questions,  some  of  them  such 
funny  ones  that  she  could  not  help  laughing,  but  she  answered 
them  all,  and  now  and  then  so  that  she  made  him  laugh  too.  By  the 
time  the  butler  came  to  say  dinner  was  ready  she  had  almost  for 
gotten  she  was  a  stranger.  Mr.  Marshman  himself  led  her  to  the 
dining-room,  begging  the  elder  ladies  would  excuse  him,  but  he 
felt  bound  to  give  his  attention  to  the  greatest  stranger  in  the 
company.  He  placed  her  on  his  right  hand  and  took  the  greatest 
care  of  her  all  dinner-time  ;  once  sending  her  plate  the  whole 
length  of  the  table  for  some  particular  little  thing  he  thought  she 
would  like.  On  the  other  side  of  Ellen  sat  Mrs.  Chauncey,  one  of 
Mr.  Marshman' s  daughters ;  a  lady  with  a  sweet,  gentle,  quiet 
face  and  manner  that  made  Ellen  like  to  sit  by  her.  Another 
daughter,  Mrs.  Gillespie,  had  more  of  her  mother's  stately  bear 
ing  ;  the  third,  Miss  Sophia,  who  met  them  first  in  the  hall,  was 
very  unlike  both  the  others,  but  lively  and  agreeable  and  good- 
humoured. 

Dinner  gave  place  to  the  dessert,  and  that  in  its  turn  was  removed 
with  the  cloth.  Ellen  was  engaged  in  munching  almonds  and 
raisins,  admiring  the  brightness  of  the  mahogany,  and  the  richly 
cut  and  coloured  glass,  and  silver  decanter  stands,  which  were 


284  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

reflected  in  it,  when  a  door  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  half 
opened,  a  little  figure  came  partly  in,  and  holding  the  door  in  her 
hand  stood  looking  doubtfully  along  the  table,  as  if  seeking  for 
some  one. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ellen  ?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"Mrs.  Bland  told  me, — mamma, — "  she  began,  her  eye  not 
ceasing  its  uneasy  quest,  but  then  breaking  off  and  springing  to 
Alice's  side  she  threw  her  arms  round  her  neck,  and  gave  her 
certainly  the  warmest  of  all  the  warm  welcomes  she  had  had  that 
day. 

"  Hallo  !"  cried  Mr.  Marshman  rapping  on  the  table  ;  "  that's  too 
much  for  any  one's  share.  Come  here,  you  baggage,  and  give  me 
just  such  another." 

The  little  girl  came  near  accordingly  and  hugged  and  kissed  him 
with  a  very  good  will,  remarking,  however,  "  Ah,  but  I've  seen  you 
before  to-day,  grandpapa  !" 

"Well,  here's  somebody  you've  not  seen  before/'  said  he  good- 
humouredly,  pulling  her  round  to  Ellen, — "here's  a  new  friend 
for  you, — a  young  lady  from  the  great  city,  so  you  must  brush  up 
your  country  manners — Miss  Ellen  Montgomery,  come  from — 
pshaw  !  what  is  it? — come  from " 

"  London,  grandpapa?"  said  the  little  girl,  as  with  a  mixture  of 
simplicity  and  kindness  she  took  Ellen's  hand  and  kissed  her  on  the 
cheek. 

"From  Carra-carra,  sir,"  said  Ellen  smiling. 

"  Go  along  with  you,"  said  he,  laughing  and  pinching  her  cheek. 
"  Take  her  away,  Ellen,  take  her  away,  arid  mind  you  take  good 
care  of  her.  Tell  Mrs.  Bland  she  is  one  of  grandpapa's  guests." 

The  two  children  had  not  however  reached  the  door  when  Ellen 
Chauncey  exclaimed,  "  Wait,  oh  !  wait  a  minute  !  I  must  speak  to 
aunt  Sophia  about  the  bag."  And  flying  to  her  side  there  followed 
an  earnest  whispering,  and  then  a  nod  and  smile  from  aunt  Sophia  ; 
and  satisfied,  Ellen  returned  to  her  companion  and  led  her  out  of 
the  dining-room. 

"  We  have  both  got  the  same  name,"  said  she  as  they  went  along 
a  wide  corridor;  "  how  shall  we  know  which  is  which?" 

"  Why,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "  when  you  say  Ellen  I  shall  know 
you  mean  me,  and  when  I  say  it  you  will  know  I  mean  you.  I 
shouldn't  be  calling  myself,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  when  somebody  else  calls  Ellen,  we  shall  both  have  to 
run.  Do  you  run  when  you  are  called?" 

"Sometimes,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

a  Ah,  but  I  do  always ;  mamma  always  makes  me.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  were  like  Marianne  Gillespie — she  waits  often  as  much 
as  half  a  minute  before  she  stirs  when  any  body  calls  her.  Did 
you  come  with  Miss  Alice  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  285 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  love  her?" 

"  Very  much  ! — oh,  very  much  !" 

Little  Ellen  looked  at  her  companion's  rising  colour  with  a  glance 
of  mixed  curiosity  and  pleasure  in  which  lay  a  strong  promise  of 
growing  love. 

"  So  do  I,"  she  answered  gayly ;  "  I  am  very  glad  she  is  come, 
and  I  am  very  glad  you  are  come,  too." 

The  little  speaker  pushed  open  a  door  and  led  Ellen  into  the 
presence  of  a  group  of  young  people  rather  older  than  them 
selves. 

"  Marianne,"  said  she  to  one  of  them,  a  handsome  girl  of  four 
teen,  "  this  is  Miss  Ellen  Montgomery — she  came  with  Alice,  and 
she  is  come  to  keep  Christmas  with  us — aren't  you  glad  ?  There'll 
be  quite  a  parcel  of  us  when  what's-her-name  comes — won't  there  ?" 

Marianne  shook  hands  with  Ellen. 

"She  is  one  of  grandpapa's  guests,  I  can  tell  you,"  said  little 
Ellen  Chauncey;  "and  he  says  we  must  brush  up  our  country 
manners — she's  come  from  the  great  city." 

4 'Do  you  think  we  are  a  set  of  ignoramuses,  Miss  Ellen?" 
inquired  a  well-grown  boy  of  fifteen,  who  looked  enough  like 
Marianne  Gillespie  to  prove  him  her  brother. 

"I  don't  know  what  that  is,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  do  they  do  things  better  in  the  great  city  than  we  do 
here  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  do  them  here,"  said  Ellen. 

"Don't  you? — Come!  Stand  out  of  my  way,  right  and  left, 
all  of  you,  will  you,  and  give  me  a  chance?  Now  then  !" 

Conscious  that  he  was  amusing  most  of  the  party,  he  placed 
himself  gravely  at  a  little  distance  from  Ellen,  and  inarching 
solemnly  up  to  her  bowed  down  to  her  knees — then  slowly  raising 
his  head  stepped  back. 

"  Miss  Ellen  Montgomery,  I  am  rejoiced  to  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  you  at  Ventnor. — Isn't  that  polite,  now  ?  Is  that  like  what 
you  have  been  accustomed  to,  Miss  Montgomery.?" 

"No,  sir — thank  you,"  said  Ellen,  who  laughed  in  spite  of  her 
self.  The  mirth  of  the  others  redoubled. 

"  May  I  request  to  be  informed  then,"  continued  Gillespie, 
"  what  is  the  fashion  of  making  bows  in  the  great  city  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  j  "  I  never  saw  a  boy  make  a  bow 
before." 

"  Humph  ! — I  guess  country  manners  will  do  for  you,"  said 
William,  turning  on  his  heel. 

"  You're  giving  her  a  pretty  specimen  of  'em,  Bill,"  said  another 
boy. 

"For  shame,  William  1"  cried  little  Ellen  Chauncey ;— "  didn' t 


286  THE    WIDE.    WIDE    WORLD. 

I  tell  you  she  was  one  of  grandpapa's  guests?  Come  here,  Ellen, 
I'll  take  you  somewhere  else." 

She  seized  Ellen's  hand  and  pulled  her  toward  the  door,  but 
suddenly  stopped  again. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you!"  she  said, — "I  asked  aunt  Sophia 
about  the  bag  of  moroccos,  and  she  said  she  would  have  'em 
early  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  we  can  divide  'em  right 
away." 

"  We  mustn't  divide  'em  till  Maggie  comes,"  said  Marianne. 

"  Oh,  no — not  till  Maggie  comes,"  said  little  Ellen;  and  then 
ran  off  again. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come,"  said  she  ; — "  the  others  are  all  so 
much  older,  and  they  have  all  so  much  to  do  together — and  now 
you  can  help  me  think  what  I  will  make  for  mamma.  Hush  ! 
don't  say  a  word  about  it !" 

They  entered  the  large  drawing-room,  where  old  and  young  were 
gathered  for  tea.  The  children,  who  had  dined  early,  sat  down  to 
a  well-spread  table,  at  which  Miss  Sophia  presided ;  the  elder  per 
sons  were  standing  or  sitting  in  different  parts  of  the  room.  Ellen, 
not  being  hungry,  had  leisure  to  look  about  her,  and  her  eye  soon 
wandered  from  the  tea-table  in  search  of  her  old  friends.  Alice 
was  sitting  by  Mrs.  Marshman,  talking  with  two  other  ladies  ;  but 
Ellen  smiled  presently  as  she  caught  her  eye  from  the  far  end  of 
the  room,  and  got  a  little  nod  of  recognition.  John  came  up  just 
then  to  set  down  his  coffee-cup,  and  asked  her  what  she  was 
smiling  at. 

"  That's  city  manners,"  said  William  Gillespie,  "  to  laugh  at 
what's  going  on." 

"I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  all  follow  the  example,"  said  John 
Humphreys  gravely,  "  if  the  young  gentleman  will  try  to  give  us 
a  smile." 

The  young  gentleman  had  just  accommodated  himself  with  an 
outrageously  large  mouthful  of  bread  and  sweetmeats,  and  if  ever 
so  well-disposed,  compliance  with  the  request  was  impossible. 
None  of  the  rest,  however,  not  even  his  sister,  could  keep  their 
countenances,  for  the  eye  of  the  speaker  had  pointed  and  sharp 
ened  his  words ;  and  William,  verv  red  in  the  face,  was  understood 
to  mumble,  as  soon  as  mumbling  was  possible,  that  "  he  wouldn't 
laugh  unless  he  had  a  mind  to,"  and  a  threat  to  "  do  something" 
to  his  tormentor. 

"  Only  not  eat  me,"  said  John,  with  a  shade  of  expression  in  his 
look  and  tone  which  overcame  the  whole  party,  himself  and  jpoor 
William  alone  retaining  entire  gravity. 

"What' sail  this — what's  all  this?  What's  all  this  laughing 
about?"  said  old  Mr.  Marshman,  coming  up. 

"This  young  gentleman,   sir,"   said  John,  "has  been   endeav- 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  287 

curing — with  a  mouthful  of  arguments — to  prove   to  us  the  in 
feriority  of  city  manners  to  those  learned  in  the  country." 

"Will?"  said  the  old  gentleman,  glancing  doubtfully  at  Wil 
liam's  discomfited  face ;  then  added  sternlyj  u  I  don't  care  where 
your  manners  were  learnt,  sir,  but  I  advise  you  to  be  very  particu 
lar  as  to  the  sort  you  bring  with  you  here.  Now,  Sophia,  let  us 
have  some  music." 

He  set  the  children  a  dancing,  and  as  Ellen  did  not  know  how,  he 
kept  her  by  him,  and  kept  her  very  much  amused  too,  in  his  own 
way  ;  then  he  would  have  her  join  in  the  dancing  and  bade  Ellen 
Chauncey  give  her  lessons.  There  was  a  little  backwardness  at 
first,  and  then  Ellen  was  jumping  away  with  the  rest,  and  thinking 
it  perfectly  delightful,  as  Miss  Sophia's  piano  rattled  out  merry  jigs 
and  tunes,  and  little  feet  flew  over  the  floor  as  light  as  the  hearts 
they  belonged  to.  At  eight  o'clock  the  young  ones  were  dismissed, 
and  bade  good-night  to  their  elders ;  and  pleased  with  the  kind  kiss 
Mrs.  Marshman  had  given  her  as  well  as  her  little  granddaughter, 
Ellen  went  off  to  bed  very  happy. 

The  room  to  which  her  companion  led  her  was  the  very  picture 
of  comfort.  It  was  not  too  large,  furnished  with  plain  old-fash 
ioned  furniture,  and  lighted  and  warmed  by  a  cheerful  wood-fire. 
The  very  old  brass-headed  andirons  that  stretched  themselves  out. 
upon  the  hearth  with  such  a  look  of  being  at  home,  seemed  to  say, 
"You  have  come  to  the  right  place  for  comfort."  A  little  dark 
mahogany  book-case  in  one  place — an  odd  toilet-table  of  the  same 
stuff  in  another ;  and  opposite  the  fire  an  old-fashioned  high-post 
bedstead  with  its  handsome  Marseilles  quilt  and  ample  pillows 
looked  very  tempting.  Between  this  and  the  far  side  of  the  room, 
in  the  corner,  another  bed  was  spread  on  the  floor. 

"This  is  aunt  Sophia's  room,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey; — 
"this  is  where  you  are  to  sleep." 

"  And  where  will  Alice  be  ?"   said  the  other  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  she'll  sleep  here,  in  this  bed,  with  aunt  Sophia ;  that  is 
because  the  house  is  so  full,  you  know ; — and  here  is  your  bed, 
here  on  the  floor.  Oh,  delicious  !  I  wish  I  was  going  to  sleep 
here.  Don't  you  love  to  sleep  on  the  floor?  I  do.  I  think  it's 
fun." 

Anybody  might  have  thought  it  fun  to  sleep  on  that  bed,  for 
instead  of  a  bedstead  it  was  luxuriously  piled  on  mattresses.  The 
two  children  sat  down  together  on  the  foot  of  it. 

"  This  is  aunt  Sophia's  room,"  continued  little  Ellen,  "  and  next 
to  it,  out  of  that  door,  is  our  dressing-room,  and  next  to  that  is 
where  mamma  and  I  sleep.  Do  you  undress  and  dress  yourself?" 

"To  be  sure  I  do,"  said  Ellen, — "always." 

"  So  do  I ;  but  Marianne  Grillespie  won't  even  put  on  her  shoes 
and  stockings  for  herself." 


288  THE  WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Who  does  it,  then  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Why,  Lester — aunt  Matilda's  maid.  Mamma  sent  away  her 
maid  when  we  came  here,  and  she  says  if  she  had  fifty  she  would 
like  me  to  do  eve*ry  thing  I  can  for  myself.  I  shouldn't  think  it 
was  pleasant  to  have  any  one  put  on  one's  shoes  and  stockings  for 
you,  should  you?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Ellen.     "  Then  you  live  here  all  the  time  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — ever  since  papa  didn't  come  back  from  that  long  voy 
age — we  live  here  since  then." 

"  Is  he  coming  back  soon  ?" 

"  No,"  said  little  Ellen  gravely — "  he  never  came  back — he  never 
will  come  back  any  more." 

Ellen  was  sorry  she  had  asked,  and  both  children  were  silent  for 
a  minute. 

"I'll  tell  you  what!"  said  little  Ellen,  jumping  up, — "mamma 
said  we  mustn't  sit  up  too  long  talking,  so  I'll  run  and  get  my 
things  and  bring 'em  here,  and  we  can  undress  together;  won't 
that  be  a  nice  way?" 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

He  that  loses  any  thing,  and  gets  wisdom  by  it,  is  a  gainer  by  the  loss. 

L'ESTUANGK. 

LEFT  alone  in  the  strange  room  with  the  flickering  fire,  how 
quickly  Ellen's  thoughts  left  Ventnor  and  flew  over  the  sea.  They 
often  travelled  that  road  it  is  true,  but  now  perhaps  the  very  home 
look  of  every  thing,  where  yet  she  was  not  at  home,  might  have 
sent  them.  There  was  a  bitter  twinge  or  two,  and  for  a  minute 
Ellen's  head  drooped.  "  To-morrow  will  be  Christmas  eve — last 
Christmas  eve — oh,  mamma  !" 

Little  Ellen  Chauncey  soon  came  back,  and  sitting  down  beside 
her  on  the  foot  of  the  bed  began  the  business  of  undressing. 

"Don't  you  love  Christmas  time?"  said  she;  "I  think  it's  the 
pleasantest  in  all  the  year ;  we  always  have  a  houseful  of  people, 
and  such  fine  times.  But  then  in  summer  I  think  that's  the  pleas 
antest.  I  s'pose  they're  all  pleasant.  Do  you  hang  up  your  stock 
ing?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Don't  you  !  why  I  always  did  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I 
used  to  think,  when  I  was  a  little  girl  you  know,"  said  she  laugh 
ing, — "  I  used  to  think  that  Santa  Claus  came  down  the  chimney, 
and  I  used  to  hang  up  my  stocking  as  near  the  fireplace  as  I  could  ; 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  289 

but  I  know  better  than  that  now ;  I  don't  care  where  I  hang  it. 
You  know  who  Santa  Glaus  is,  don't  you?" 

"  He's  nobody,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  yes  he  is — he's  a  great  many  people — he's  whoever  gives 
you  any  thing.  My  Santa  Glaus  is  mamma,  and  grandpapa,  and 
grandmamma,  and  aunt  Sophia,  and  aunt  Matilda ;  and  I  thought 
I  should  have  had  uncle  George  too  this  Christmas,  but  he  couldn't 
come.  Uncle  Howard  never  gives  me  any  thing.  I  am  sorry  uncle 
George  couldn't  come  ;  I  like  him  the  best  of  all  my  uncles." 

"  I  never  had  any  body  but  mamma  to  give  me  presents,"  said 
Ellen,  "and  she  never  gave  me  much  more  at  Christmas  than  at 
other  times." 

"  I  used  to  have  presents  from  mamma  and  grandpapa  too,  both 
Christmas  and  New  Year,  but  now  I  have  grown  so  old  mamma 
only  gives  me  something  Christmas  and  grandpapa  only  New  Year. 
It  would  be  too  much,  you  know,  for  me  to  have  both  when  my 
presents  are  so  big.  I  don't  believe  a  stocking  will  hold  'em  much 
longer.  But  oh!  we've  got  such  a  fine  plan  in  our  heads,"  said 
little  Ellen,  lowering  her  voice  and  speaking  with  open  eyes  and 
great  energy, — "  we  are  going  to  make  presents  this  year ! — we 
children — won't  it  be  fine? — we  are  going  to  make  what  we  like 
for  any  body  we  choose,  and  let  nobody  know  any  thing  about  it; 
and  then  New  Year's  morning,  you  know,  when  the  things  are  all 
under  the  napkins  we  will  give  ours  to  somebody  to  put  where  they 
belong,  and  nobody  will  know  any  thing  about  them  till  they  see 
them  there.  Won't  it  be  fine?  I'm  so  glad  you  are  here,  for  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  what  I  shall  make." 

"Who  is  it  for?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  mamma ;  you  know  I  can't  make  for  every  body,  so  I  think 
I  had  rather  it  should  be  for  mamma.  I  thought  of  making  her  a 
needlebook  with  white  backs,  and  getting  Gilbert  Gillespie  to  paint 
them — he  can  paint  beautifully, — and  having  her  name  and  some 
thing  else  written  very  nicely  inside — how  do  you  think  that  would 
do?" 

"  I  should  think  it  would  do  very  nicely,"  said  Ellen, — "  very 
nicely  indeed." 

"  I  wish  uncle  George  was  at  home  though  to  write  it  for  me, — 
he  writes  so  beautifully ;  I  can't  do  it  well  enough." 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  either,"  said  Ellen.  "Perhaps  somebody 
else  can." 

"  I  don't  know  who.  Aunt  Sophia  scribbles  and  scratches,  and 
besides  I  don't  want  her  to  know  any  thing  about  it.  But  there's 
another  thing  I  don't  know  how  to  fix,  and  that's  the  edges  of  the 
leaves — the  leaves  for  the  needles — they  must  be  fixed— somehow." 

"I  can  show  you  how  to  do  that,"  said  Ellen  brightening; 
"  mamma  had  a  needlebook  that  was  given  to  her  that  had  the 
»  t  25 


290  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

edges  beautifully  fixed ;  and  I  wanted  to  know  how  it  was  done, 
and  she  showed  me.  I'll  show  you  that.  It  takes  a  good  while, 
but  that's  no  matter." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  ;  how  nice  that  is.  Oh,  no,  that's  no  matter.  And 
then  it  will  do  very  well,  won't  it?  Now  if  I  can  only  catch  Gil 
bert  in  a  good  humour — he  isn't  my  cousin — he's  Marianne's 
cousin — that  big  boy  you  saw  down  stairs — he's  so  big  he  won't 
have  any  thing  to  say  to  me  sometimes,  but  I  guess  I'll  get  him 
to  do  this.  Don't  you  want  to  make  something  for  somebody?" 

Ellen  had  had  one  or  two  feverish  thoughts  on  this  subject 
since  the  beginning  of  the  conversation  ;  but  she  only  said, — 

"  It's  no  matter — you  know  I  haven't  got  any  thing  here  ;  and 
besides  I  shall  not  be  here  till  New  Year." 

"Not  here  till  New  Year!  yes  you  shall,"  said  little  Ellen, 
throwing  herself  upon  her  neck;  "  indeed  you  aren't  going  away 
before  that.  I  know  you  aren't — I  heard  grandmamma  and  aunt 
Sophia  talking  about  it.  Say  you  will  stay  here  till  New  Year — 
do!" 

"I  should  like  to  very  much  indeed,"  said  Ellen,  "if  Alice 
does." 

In  the  midst  of  half  a  dozen  kisses  with  which  her  little  com 
panion  rewarded  this  speech,  somebody  close  by  said  pleasantly, — 

"  What  time  of  night  do  you  suppose  it  is?" 

The  girls  started ; — there  was  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"Oh,  mamma,"  exclaimed  her  little  daughter,  springing  to  her 
feet,  "  I  hope  you  haven't  heard  what  we  have  been  talking 
about?" 

"Not  a  word,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  smiling,  "but  as  to-morrow 
will  be  long  enough  to  talk  in,  hadn't  you  better  go  to  bed  now?" 

Her  daughter  obeyed  her  immediately,  after  one  more  hug  to 
Ellen  and  telling  her  she  was  so  glad  she  had  come.  Mrs.  Chaun 
cey  stayed  to  see  Ellen  in  bed  and  press  one  kind  motherly  kiss 
upon  her  face,  so  tenderly  that  Ellen's  eyes  were  moistened  as  she 
withdrew.  But  in  her  dreams  that  night  the  rosy  sweet  face,  blue 
eyes,  and  little  plump  figure  of  Ellen  Chauncey  played  the  greatest 
part. 

She  slept  till  Alice  was  obliged  to  waken  her  the  next  morning ; 
and  then  got  up  with  her  head  in  a  charming  confusion  of  pleasures 
past  and  pleasures  to  come, — things  known  and  unknown  to  be 
made  for  every  body's  New  Year  presents, — linen  collars  and 
painted  needlebooks ;  and  no  sooner  was  breakfast  over  than  she 
was  showing  and  explaining  to  Ellen  Chauncey  a  particularly 
splendid  and  mysterious  way  of  embroidering  the  edges  of  needle- 
book  leaves.  Deep  in  this  they  were  still  an  hour  afterwards,  and 
in  the  comparative  merits  of  purple  and  rose-colour,  when  a  little 
hubbub  arose  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  on  the  arrival  of  a  new- 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  291 

comer.  Ellen  Chauncey  looked  up  from  her  work,  then  dropped  it, 
exclaiming,  "  There  she  is  ! — now  for  the  bag  !" — and  pulled  Ellen 
along  with  her  toward  the  party.  A  young  lady  was  in  the  midst 
of  it,  talking  so  fast  that  she  had  not  time  to  take  off  her  cloak 
and  bonnet.  As  her  eye  met  Ellen's  however  she  came  to  a  sudden 
pause.  It  was  Margaret  Dunscombe.  Ellen's  face  certainly  showed 
no  pleasure  ;  Margaret's  darkened  with  a  very  disagreeable  surprise. 

"  My  goodness ! — Ellen  Montgomery  ! — how  on  earth  did  you 
get  here  ?' ' 

"  Do  you  know  her  ?"  asked  one  of  the  girls,  as  the  two  Ellens 
went  off  after  "  aunt  Sophia." 

"Do  I  know  her?  Yes — just  enough, — exactly.  How  did  she 
get  here?" 

"  Miss  Humphreys  brought  her." 

"Who's  Miss  Humphreys?" 

"Hush!"  said  Marianne,  lowering  her  tone, — "that's  her 
brother  in  the  window." 

"  Whose  brother? — hers  or  Miss  Humphreys'  ?" 

"Miss  Humphreys'.  Did  you  never  see  her?  she  is  here,  or 
has  been  here,  a  great  deal  of  the  time.  Grandma  calls  her  her 
fourth  daughter;  and  she  is  just  as  much  at  home  as  if  she  was; 
and  she  brought  her  here." 

"  And  she's  at  home  too,  I  suppose.  Well,  it's  no  business  of 
mine." 

"  What  do  you  know  of  her?" 

"  Oh,  enough — that's  just  it — don't  want  to  know  any  more." 

"  Well,  you  needn't;  but  what's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know — I'll  tell  you  some  other  time — she's  a  con 
ceited  little  piece.  We  had  the  care  of  her  coming  up  the  river, 
that's  how  I  come  to  know  about  her;  'ma  said  it  was  the  last 
child  she  would  be  bothered  with  in  that  way." 

Presently  the  two  girls  came  back,  bring  word  to  clear  the  table, 
for  aunt  Sophia  was  coming  with  the  moroccos.  As  soon  as  she 
came  Ellen  Chauncey  sprang  to  her  neck  and  whispered  an  earnest 
question.  "  Certainly  1"  aunt  Sophia  said,  as  she  poured  out  the 
contents  of  the  bag ;  and  her  little  niece  delightedly  told  Ellen  she 
was  to  have  her  share  as  well  as  the  rest. 

The  table  was  now  strewn  with  pieces  of  morocco  of  all  sizes 
and  colours,  which  were  hastily  turned  over  and  examined  with 
eager  hands  and  sparkling  eyes.  Some  were  mere  scraps,  to  be 
sure  ;  but  others  showed  a  breadth  and  length  of  beauty  which  was 
declared  to  be  "first-rate,"  and  "fine;"  and  one  beautiful  large 
piece  of  blue  morocco  in  particular  was  made  up  in  imagination  by 
two  or  three  of  thev  party  in  as  many  different  ways.  Marianne 
wanted  it  for  a  book-cover ;  Margaret  declared  she  could  make  a 
lovely  reticule  with  it ;  and  Ellen  could  not  help  thinking  it  would 


292  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

make  a  very  pretty  needle-box,  such  a  one  as  she  had  seen  in  the 
possession  of  one  of  the  girls,  and  longed  to  make  for  Alice. 

"  Well,  what's  to  be  done  now?"  said  Miss  Sophia, — "or  am  I 
not  to  know?" 

"  Oh,  you're  not  to  know— you're  not  to  know,  aunt  Sophy," 
cried  the  girls ; — "  you  mustn't  ask." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  they  are  going  to  do  with  'em,"  said  Greorge 
Walsh  coming  up  to  her  with  a  mischievous  face,  and  adding  in  a 
loud  whisper,  shielding  his  mouth  with  his  hand, — u  they're  going 
to  make  pr " 

He  was  laid  hold  of  forcibly  by  the  whole  party  screaming  and 
laughing,  and  stopped  short  from  finishing  his  speech. 

"Well  then  I'll  take  my  departure,"  said  Miss  Sophia ;—"  but 
how  will  you  manage  to  divide  all  these  scraps  ?" 

"Suppose  we  were  to  put  them  in  the  bag  again,  and  you  hold 
the  bag,  and  we  were  to  draw  them  out  without  looking,"  said 
Ellen  Chauncey, — "  as  we  used  to  do  with  the  sugar-plums." 

As  no  better  plan  was  thought  of  this  was  agreed  upon  ;  and  little 
Ellen  shutting  up  her  eyes  very  tight  stuck  in  her  hand  and  pulled 
out  a  little  bit  of  green  morocco  about  the  size  of  a  dollar.  Ellen 
Montgomery  came  next ;  then  Margaret,  then  Marianne,  then  their 
mutual  friend  Isabel  Hawthorn.  Each  had  to  take  her  turn  a  great 
many  times ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  drawing  the  pieces  were  found 
to  be  pretty  equally  divided  among  the  party,  with  the  exception  of 
Ellen,  who  besides  several  other  good  pieces  had  drawn  the  famous 
blue. 

"  That  will  do  very  nicely,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  I  am 
glad  you  have  got  that,  Ellen.  Now,  aunt  Sophy  ! — one  thing 
more — you  know  the  silks  and  ribbons  you  promised  us." 

"  Bless  me  !  I  haven't  done  yet,  eh  ?  Well  you  shall  have  them, 
but  we  are  all  going  out  to  walk  now  ;  I'll  give  them  to  you  this 
afternoon.  Come !  put  these  away  and  get  on  your  bonnets  and 
cloaks." 

A  hard  measure  !  but  it  was  done.  After  the  walk  came  dinner  : 
after  dinner  aunt  Sophia  had  to  be  found  and  waited  on,  till  she 
had  fairly  sought  out  and  delivered  to  their  hands  the  wished-for 
bundles  of  silks  and  satins.  It  gave  great  satisfaction. 

"  But  how  shall  we  do  about  dividing  these  ?"  said  little  Ellen  ; 
"  shall  we  draw  lots  again  ?" 

"No,  Ellen,"  said  Marianne,  "  that  won't  do,  because  we  might 
every  one  get  just  the  thing  we  do  not  want.  I  want  one  colour 
or  stun7  to  go  with  my  morocco,  and  you  want  another  to  go  with 
yours  ;  and  you  might  get  mine  and  I  might  get  yours.  We  had 
best  each  choose  in  turn  what  we  like,  beginning  at  Isabel." 

"  Very  well,"  said  little  Ellen,  "  I'm  agreed." 

"  Any  thing  for  a  quiet  life,"  said  George  Walsh. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  293 

But  this  business  of  choosing  was  found  to  be  very  long  and 
very  difficult,  each  one  was  so  fearful  of  not  taking  the  exact  piece 
she  wanted  most.  The  elder  members  of  the  family  began  to 
gather  for  dinner,  and  several  came  and  stood  round  the  table  where 
the  children  were ;  little  noticed  by  them,  they  were  so  wrapped  up 
in  silks  and  satins.  Ellen  seemed  the  least  interested  person  at 
table,  and  had  made  her  selections  with  the  least  delay  and  difficulty ; 
and  now  as  it  was  not  her  turn  sat  very  soberly  looking  on  with 
her  head  resting  on  her  hand. 

"I  declare  it's  too  vexatious!"  said  Margaret  Dunscombe; — 
"here  I've  got  this  beautiful  piece  of  blue  satin,  and  can't  do  any 
thing  with  it;  it  just  matches  that  blue  morocco — it's  a  perfect 
match — I  could  have  made  a  splendid  thing  of  it,  and  I  have  got 
some  cord  and  tassels  that  would  just  do — I  declare  it's  too  bad." 

Ellen's  colour  changed. 

"Well,  choose,  Margaret,"  said  Marianne. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  choose — that's  the  thing.  What  can  one 
do  with  red  and  purple  morocco  and  blue  satin  ?  I  might  as  well 
give  up.  I've  a  great  notion  to  take  this  piece  of  yellow  satin  and 
dress  up  a  Turkish  doll  to  frighten  the  next  young  one  I  meet 
with." 

"  I  wish  you  would,  Margaret,  and  give  it  to  me  when  it's  done," 
cried  little  Ellen  Chauncey. 

"  'Tain't  made  yet,"  said  the  other  dryly. 

Ellen's  colour  had  changed  and  changed;  her  hand  twitched 
nervously,  and  she  glanced  uneasily  from  Margaret's  store  of  finery 
to  her  own. 

"  Come,  choose,  Margaret,'*  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  I  dare  say 
Ellen  wants  the  blue  morocco  as  much  as  you  do." 

"NojJLdon't!"  said  Ellen  abruptly,  throwing  it  over  the  table 
to  her  ; — "  take  it,  Margaret, — you  may  have  it." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  sai<^  the  other  astounded. 

"  I  mean  you  may  have  it,"  said  EJlen, — "I  don't  want  it." 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  the  other, — "I'll  give  you  yel 
low  satin  for  it — or  some  of  my  red  morocco  ?" 

"  No,— I  had  rather  not,"  repeated  Ellen  ; — "I  don't  want  it — 
you  may  have  it." 

"  Very  generously  done,"  remarked  Miss  Sophia  ;  "  I  hope  you'll 
all  take  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  being  obliging." 

11  Quite  a  noble  little  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

Ellen  crimsoned.  "No,  ma'am,  I  am  not,  indeed,"  she  said, 
looking  at  them  with  eyes  that  were  filling  fast, — "  please  don't 
say  so — I  don't  deserve  it." 

"  I  shall  say  what  I  think,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie  smiling, 
"but  I  am  glad  you  add  the  grace  of  modesty  to  that  of  gener 
osity  ;  it  is  the  more  uncommon  of  the  two," 

25* 


294  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"I  am  not  modest!  I  am  not  generous!  you  mustn't  say  so," 
cried  Ellen.  She  struggled ;  the  blood  rushed  to  the  surface,  suf 
fusing  every  particle  of  skin  that  could  be  seen ; — then  left  it,  as 
with  eyes  cast  down  she  went  on — "  I  don't  deserve  to  be  praised, 
— it  was  more  Margaret's  than  mine.  I  oughtn't  to  have  kept  it 
at  all — for  I  saw  a  little  bit  when  I  put  my  hand  in.  I  didn't 
mean  to,  but  I  did  !" 

Raising  her  eyes  hastily  to  Alice's  face,  they  met  those  of  John, 
who  was  standing  behind  her.  She  had  not  counted  upon  him  for 
one  of  her  listeners ;  she  knew  Mrs.  Gillespie,  Mrs.  Chauncey,  Miss 
Sophia,  and  Alice  had  heard  her ;  but  this  was  the  one  drop  too 
much.  Her  head  sunk  ;  she  covered  her  face  a  moment,  and  then 
made  her  escape  out  of  the  room  before  even  Ellen  could  follow 
her. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Alice  seemed  to  have  some  diffi 
culty  not  to  follow  Ellen's  example.  Margaret  pouted;  Mrs. 
Chauncey' s  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  her  little  daughter  seemed 
divided  between  doubt  and  dismay.  Her  first  move  however  was 
to  run  off  in  pursuit  of  Ellen.  Alice  went  after  her. 

"  Here's  a  beautiful  example  of  honour  and  honesty  for  you  !" 
said  Margaret  Dunscombe.  at  length. 

"  I  think  it  is,"  said  John,  quietly. 

"  An  uncommon  instance,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  I  am  glad  every  body  thinks  so,"  said  Margaret,  sullenly  ;  "  I 
hope  I  shan't  copy  it,  that's  all." 

"  I  think  you  are  in  no  danger,"  said  John,  again. 

"  Very  well !"  said  Margaret,  who  between  her  desire  of  speak 
ing  and  her  desire  of  concealing  her  vexation  did  not  know  what 
to  do  with  herself; — "  every  body  must  judge  for  himself,  1  sup 
pose  ;  I've  got  enough  of  her,  for  my  part." 

"Where  did  you  ever  see  her  before?"  said  Isabel  Haw 
thorn. 

u  Oh,  she  came  up  the  river  with  us — mamma  had  to  take  care 
of  her — she  was  with  us  two  days." 

"  And  didn't  you  like  her?" 

"No,  I  guess  I  didn't!  she  was  a  perfect  plague.  All  the  day 
onboard  the  steamboat  she  scarcely  came  near  us;  we  couldn't 
pretend  to  keep  sight  of  her ;  mamma  had  to  send  her  maid  out  to 
look  after  her  I  don't  know  how  many  times.  She  scraped  ac 
quaintance  with  some  strange  man  on  board  and  liked  his  company 
better  than  ours,  for  she  stayed  with  him  the  whole  blessed  day, 
waking  and  sleeping;  of  course  mamma  didn't  like  it  at  all.  She 
didn't  go  to  a  single  meal  with  us ;  you  know  of  course  that  wasn't 
proper  behaviour." 

"No  indeed,"  said  Isabel. 

"I  suppose,"    said  John,  coolly,  "she  chose   the    society  she 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  295 

thought  the  pleasantest.     Probably  Miss  Margaret's  politeness  was 
more  than  she  had  been  accustomed  to." 

Margaret  coloured,  not  quite  knowing  what  to  make  of  the 
speaker  or  his  speech. 

"It  would  take  much  to  make  me  believe,"  said  gentle  Mrs. 
Chauncey,  "that  a  child  of  such  refined  and  delicate  feeling  as 
that  little  girl  evidently  has,  could  take  pleasure  in  improper 
company." 

Margaret  had  a  reply  at  her  tongue's  end,  but  she  had  also  an 
uneasy  feeling  that  there  were  eyes  not  far  off  too  keen  of  sight 
to  be  baffled ;  she  kept  silence  till  the  group  dispersed  and  she  had 
an  opportunity  of  whispering  in  Marianne's  ear  that  "  that  was  the 
very  most  disagreeable  man  she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life." 

"  What  a  singular  fancy  you  have  taken  to  this  little  pet  of 
Alice's,  Mr.  John,"  said  Mrs.  Marshman's  youngest  daughter. 
"  You  quite  surprise  me." 

"  Did  you  think  me  a  misanthrope,  Miss  Sophia?" 
"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all ;  but  I  always  had  a  notion  you  would  not 
be  easily  pleased  in  the  choice  of  favourites." 

"Easily  !    When  a  simple  intelligent  child  of  twelve  or  thirteen 
is  a  common  character,  then  I  will  allow  that  I  am  easily  pleased." 
"  Twelve  or  thirteen  !"  said  Miss  Sophia ;  "  what  are  you  think 
ing  about?     Alice  says  she  is  only  ten  or  eleven." 
"In  years — perhaps." 

"  How  gravely  you  take  me  up  !"  said  the  young  lady,  laughing. 
"  My  dear  Mr.  John,  '  in  years  perhaps,'  you  may  call  yourself 
twenty,  but  in  every  thing  else  you  might  much  better  pass  for 
thirty  or  forty." 

As  they  were  called  to  dinner  Alice  and  Ellen  Chauncey  came 
back ;  the  former  looking  a  little  serious,  the  latter  crying,  and 
wishing  aloud  that  all  the  moroccos  had  been  in  the  fire.  They 
had  not  been  able  to  find  Ellen.  Neither  was  she  in  the  drawing- 
room  when  they  returned  to  it  after  dinner ;  and  a  second  search 
was  made  in  vain.  John  went  to  the  library  which  was  separate 
from  the  other  rooms,  thinking  she  might  have  chosen  that  for  a 
hiding-place.  She  was  not  there ;  but  the  pleasant  light  of  the 
room  where  only  the  fire  was  burning,  invited  a  stay.  He  sat 
down  in  the  deep  window,  and  was  musingly  looking  out  into  the 
moonlight,  when  the  door  softly  opened  and  Ellen  came  in.  She 
stole  in  noiselessly,  so  that  he  did  not  hear  her,  and  she  thought 
the  room  empty ;  till  in  passing  slowly  down  toward  the  fire  she 
came  upon  him  in  the  window.  Her  start  first  let  him  know  she 
was  there  ;  she  would  have  run,  but  one  of  her  hands  was  caught, 
and  she  could  not  get  it  away. 

"  Running  away  from  your  brother,  Ellie  !"  said  he,  kindly  \ 
"  what  is  the  matter?" 


296  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  shrunk  from  meeting  his  eye  and  was  silent. 
"I  know  all,  Ellie,"  said  he,  still  very  kindly, — "I  have  seen 
all ; — why  do  you  shun  me?" 

Ellen  said  nothing ;  the  big  tears  began  to  run  down  her  face 
and  frock. 

"  You  are  taking  this  matter  too  hardly,  dear  Ellen,"  he  said, 
drawing  her  close  to  him; — "you  did  wrong,  but  you  have  done 
all  you  could  to  repair  the  wrong  j — neither  man  nor  woman  can 
do  more  than  that." 

But  though  encouraged  by  his  manner,  the  tears  flowed  faster 
than  ever. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  Alice  was  looking  for  you,  and  little 
Ellen  Chauncey  was  in  great  trouble.  I  don't  know  what  dreadful 
thing  she  thought  you  had  done  with  yourself.  Come  ! — lift  up 
your  head  and  let  me  see  you  smile  again." 

Ellen  lifted  her  head,  but  could  not  her  eyes,  though  she  tried 
to  smile. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little  about  this,"  said  he.  "You 
know  you  gave  me  leave  to  be  your  brother, — will  you  let  me  ask 
you  a  question  or  two?" 

"  Oh,  yes — whatever  he  pleased,"  Ellen  said. 

"Then  sit  down  here,"  said  he,  making  room  for  her  on  the 
wide  window-seat,  but  still  keeping  hold  of  her  hand  and  speaking 
very  gently.  "  You  said  you  saw  when  you  took  the  morocco — I 
don't  quite  understand — how  was  it?" 

"Why,"  said  Ellen,  "we  were  not  to  look,  and  we  had  gone 
three  times  round  and  nobody  had  got  that  large  piece  yet,  and  we 
all  wanted  it ;  and  I  did  not  mean  to  look  at  all,  but  I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  just  before  I  shut  my  eyes  I  happened  to  see  the 
corner  of  it  sticking  up,  and  then  I  took  it." 

"  With  your  eyes  open  ?" 

"No,  no,  with  them  shut.  And  I  had  scarcely  got  it  when  I 
was  sorry  for  it  and  wished  it  back." 

"  You  will  wonder  at  me  perhaps,  Ellie,"  said  John,  "  but  I  am 
not  very  sorry  this  has  happened.  You  are  no  worse  than  before  ; 
— it  has  only  made  you  see  what  you  are — very,  very  weak, — quite 
unable  to  keep  yourself  right  without  constant  help.  Sudden 
temptation  was  too  much  for  you — so  it  has  many  a  time  been  for 
me,  and  so  it  has  happened  to  the  best  men  on  earth.  I  suppose 
if  you  had  had  a  minute's  time  to  think  you  would  not  have  done 
as  you  did  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !"  said  Ellen.     "  I  was  sorry  a  minute  after." 

"  And  I  dare  say  the  thought  of  it  weighed  upon  your  mind  ever 
since  f" 

•"•'  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Ellen  ; — "  it  wasn't  out  of  my  head  a  minute 
the  whole  day." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  297 

"  Then  let  it  make  you  very  humble,  dear  Ellie,  and  let  it  make 
you  in  future  keep  close  to  our  dear  Saviour,  without  whose  help 
we  cannot  stand  a  moment." 

Ellen  sobbed ;  and  he  allowed  her  to  do  so  for  a  few  minutes, 
then  said, 

"  But  you  have  not  been  thinking  much  about  Him,  Ellie." 

The  sobs  ceased ;  he  saw  his  words  had  taken  hold. 

"Is  it  right,"  he  said  softly,  "  that  we  should  be  more  troubled 
about  what  people  will  think  of  us,  than  for  having  displeased  or 
dishonoured  Him?" 

Ellen  now  looked  up,  and  in  her  look  was  all  the  answer  he 
wished. 

"You  understand  me,  I  see,"  said  he.  "Be  humbled  in  the 
dust  before  him — the  more  the  better ;  but  whenever  we  are  greatly 
concerned,  for  our  own  sakes,  about  other  people's  opinion,  we  may 
be  sure  we  are  thinking  too  little  of  God  and  what  will  please  him." 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  poor  Ellen,  from  whose  eyes  the  tears 
began  to  drop  again, — "I  am  very  wrong — but  I  couldn't  bear  to 
think  what  Alice  would  think — and  you — and  all  of  them " 

"  Here's  Alice  to  speak  for  herself,"  said  John. 

As  Alice  came  up  with  a  quick  step  and  knelt  down  before  her, 
Ellen  sprang  to  her  neck,  and  they  held  each  other  very  fast  in 
deed.  John  walked  up  and  down  the  room.  Presently  he  stopped 
before  them. 

"  All's  well  again,"  said  Alice,  "and  we  are  going  in  to  tea." 

He  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand,  which  Ellen  took,  but  he  would 
not  leave  the  library,  declaring  they  had  a  quarter  of  an  hour  still. 
So  they  sauntered  up  and  down  the  long  room,  talking  of  different 
things,  so  pleasantly  that  Ellen  near  forgot  her  troubles.  Then 
came  in  Miss  Sophia  to  find  them,  and  then  Mr.  Marshman,  and 
Marianne  to  call  them  to  tea ;  so  the  going  into  the  drawing-room 
was  not  half  so  bad  as  Ellen  thought  it  would  be. 

She  behaved  very  well ;  her  face  was  touchingly  humble  that 
night;  and  all  the  evening  she  kept  fast  by  either  Alice  or  John, 
without  budging  an  inch.  And  as  little  Ellen  Chauncey  and  her 
cousin  George  Walsh  chose  to  be  where  she  was,  the  young  party 
was  quite  divided ;  and  not  the  least  merry  portion  of  it  was  that 
mixed  with  the  older  people.  Little  Ellen  was  half  beside  herself 
with  spirits ;  the  secret  of  which  perhaps  was  the  fact,  which  she 
several  times  in  the  course  of  the  evening  whispered  to  Ellen  as  a 
great  piece  of  news,  that  "  it  was  Christmas  eve  !" 


298  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure, 
The  minutes  winged  their  way  wi'  pleasure. 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  they  were  glorious, 
O'er  all  the  ills  o'  life  victorious. 

BURNS. 

CHRISTMAS  morning  was  dawning  grey,  but  it  was  still  far  from 
broad  daylight,  when  Ellen  was  awakened.  She  found  little  Ellen 
Chauncey  pulling  and  pushing  at  her  shoulders,  and  whispering 
"Ellen!  Ellen!" — in  a  tone  that  showed  a  great  fear  of  waking 
somebody  up.  There  she  was,  in  night-gown  and  nightcap,  and 
barefooted  too,  with  a  face  brimfull  of  excitement  and  as  wide 
awake  as  possible.  Ellen  roused  herself  in  no  little  surprise  and 
asked  what  the  matter  was. 

"  I  am  going  to  look  at  my  stocking,"  whispered  her  visitor, — 
"  don't  you  want  to  get  up  and  come  with  me?  it's  just  here  in 
the  other  room, — come  ! — don't  make  any  noise." 

"  But  what  if  you  should  find  nothing  in  it?"  said  Ellen  laugh 
ingly,  as  she  bounded  out  of  bed. 

"  Ah,  but  I  shall,  I  know  ; — I  always  do  ; — never  fear.  Hush  ! 
step  ever  so  softly — I  don't  want  to  wake  any  body." 

"It's  hardly  light  enough  for  you  to  see,"  whispered  Ellen,  as 
the  two  little  barefooted  white  figures  glided  out  of  the  room. 

"Oh,  yes  it  is — that's  all  the  fun.  Hush! — don't  make  a  bit 
of  noise — I  know  where  it  hangs — mamma  always  puts  it  at  the 
back  of  her  big  easy  chair — come  this  way — here  it  is  !  Oh,  Ellen  ! 
there's  two  of  'em  !  There's  one  for  you  !  there's  one  for  you." 

In  a  tumult  of  delight  one  Ellen  capered  about  the  floor  on  the 
tips  of  her  little  bare  toes,  while  the  other,  not  less  happy,  stood 
still  for  pleasure.  The  dancer  finished  by  hugging  and  kissing  her 
with  all  her  heart,  declaring  she  was  so  glad  she  didn't  know  what 
to  do. 

"  But  how  shall  we  know  which  is  which?" 

"  Perhaps  they  are  both  alike,"  said  Ellen. 

«  No — at  any  rate  one's  for  me,  and  t'other's  for  you.  Stop  !  here 
are  pieces  of  paper,  with  our  names  on  I  guess — let's  turn  the 
chair  a  little  bit  to  the  light — there — yes ! — Ellen — M-o-n, — there, 
that's  yours;  my  name  doesn't  begin  with  an  M ;  and  this  is 
mine !" 

Another  caper  round  the  room,  and  then  she  brought  up  in  front 
of  the  chair  where  Ellen  was  still  standing. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  299 

"I  wonder  what's  in  'em,"  she  said;  "I  want  to  look,  and  I 
don't  want  to.  Come,  you  begin." 

"  But  that's  no  stocking  of  mine,"  said  Ellen,  a  smile  gradually 
breaking  upon  her  sober  little  face ;  "  my  leg  never  was  as  big  as 
that." 


«  Stuffed,  isn't  it  ?"   said  Ellen  Chauncey.     "  Oh,  do  make  haste, 
;d  see  what  is  in  yours.     I  want  to  know  so  I  don't  know  what 


and  see 


"  Well,  will  you  take  out  of  yours  as  fast  as  I  take  out  of 
mine?" 

"Well!"  - 


300  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Oh,  mysterious  delight,  and  delightful  mystery,  of  the  stuffed 
stocking  1  Ellen's  trembling  fingers  sought  the  top,  and  then  very 
suddenly  left  it. 

"I  can't  think  what  it  is,"  said  she  laughing, — "it  feels  so 
funny." 

"  Oh,  never  mind !  make  haste,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey ;  "  it 
won't  hurt  you,  I  guess." 

"  No,  it  won't  hurt  me,"  said  Ellen, — "  but " 

She  drew  forth  a  great  bunch  of  white  grapes. 

"  Splendid  !  isn't  it?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey.     "  Now  for  mine." 

It  was  the  counterpart  of  Ellen's  bunch. 

"  So  far,  so  good,"  said  she.     "  Now  for  the  next." 

The  next  thing  in  each  stocking  was  a  large  horn  of  sugar-plums. 

"  Well,  that's  fine,  isn't  it?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey; — "  yours  is 
tied  with  white  ribbon  and  mine  with  blue  ;  that's  all  the  difference. 
Oh,  and  your  paper's  red  and  mine  is  purple." 

"  Yes,  and  the  pictures  are  different,"  said  Ellen. 

"Well,  I  had  rather  they  would  be  different,  wouldn  t  you?  I 
think  it's  just  as  pleasant.  One's  as  big  as  the  other,  at  any  rate. 
Come — what's  next?" 

Ellen  drew  out  a  little  bundle,  which  being  opened  proved  to  be 
a  nice  little  pair  of  dark  kid  gloves. 

"  Oh,  I  wonder  who  gave  me  this  1"  she  said, — "  it's  just  what 
I  wanted.  How  pretty  !  Oh,  I'm  so  glad.  I  guess  who  it  was." 

"  Oh,  look  here,"  said  the  other  Ellen,  who  had  been  diving  into 
her  stocking, — "  I've  got  a  ball — this  is  just  what  I  wanted  too; 
George  told  me  if  I'd  get  one  he'd  show  me  how  to  play.  Isn't  it 
pretty?  Isn't  it  funny  we  should  each  get  just  what  we  wanted? 
Oh,  this  is  a  very  nice  ball.  I'm  glad  I've  got  it.  Why,  here  is 
another  great  round  thing  in  my  stocking  ! — what  can  it  be  ?  they 
wouldn't  give  me  two  balls,"  said  she,  chuckling. 

"  So  there  is  in  mine  !"  said  Ellen.     "  Maybe  they're  apples?" 

"  They  aren't !  they  wouldn't  give  us  apples ;  besides,  it  is  soft. 
Pull  it  out  and  see." 

"  Then  they  are  oranges,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  /  never  felt  such  a  soft  orange,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey. 
"  Come  Ellen  !  stop  laughing,  and  let's  see." 

They  were  two  great  scarlet  satin  pincushions,  with  E.  C.  and 
E.  M.  very  neatly  stuck  in  pins. 

"  Well,  we  shan't  want  pins  for  a  good  while,  shall  we?"  said 
Ellen.  u  Who  gave  us  these?" 

"I  know,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey,—"  Mrs.  Bland." 

"  She  was  very  kind  to  make  one  for  me,"  said  Ellen.  "  Now 
for  the  next !" 

Her  next  thing  was  a  little  bottle  of  Cologne  water. 

"  I  can  tell  who  put  that  in,"  said  her  friend, — "  aunt  Sophia. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  301 

I  know  her  little  bottles  of  Cologne  water.     Do  you  love  Cologne 
water?     Aunt  Sophia's  is  delicious." 

Ellen  did  like  it  very  much,  and  was  extremely  pleased.  Ellen 
Chauncey  had  also  a  new  pair  of  scissors  which  gave  entire  satis 
faction. 

"Now  I  wonder  what  all  this  toe  is  stuffed  with,"  said  she, — 
"raisins  and  almonds,  I  declare!  and  yours  the  same,  isn't  it? 
Well,  don't  you  think  we  have  got  enough  sweet  things?  Isn't 
this  a  pretty  good  Christmas?" 

"What  are  you  about,  you  monkeys?"  cried  the  voice  of  aunt 
Sophia  from  the  dressing-room  door.  "Alice,  Alice!  do  look  at 
them.  Come,  right  back  to  bed  both  of  you.  Crazy  pates  1  It  is 
lucky  it  is  Christmas  day — if  it  was  any  other  in  the  year  we  should 
have  you  both  sick  in  bed ;  as  it  is  I  suppose  you  will  go  scot 
free." 

Laughing,  and  rosy  with  pleasure,  they  came  back  and  got  into 
bed  together ;  and  for  an  hour  afterwards  the  two  kept  up  a  most 
animated  conversation,  intermixed  with  long  chuckles  and  bursts 
of  merriment,  and  whispered  communications  of  immense  im 
portance.  The  arrangement  of  the  painted  needlebook  was  entirely 
decided  upon  in  this  consultation  ;  also  two  or  three  other  matters ; 
and  the  two  children  seemed  to  have  already  lived  a  day  since  day 
break  by  the  time  they  came  down  to  breakfast. 

After  breakfast  Ellen  applied  secretly  to  Alice  to  know  if  she 
could  write  very  beautifully ;  she  exceedingly  wanted  something 
done. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  venture,  Ellie,  if  it  must  be  so  superfine ; 
but  John  can  do  it  for  you." 

"  Can  he  ?     Do  you  think  he  would  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  will  if  you  ask  him." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  ask  him,"  said  Ellen,  casting  a  doubtful 
glance  at  the  window. 

"Nonsense!  he's  only  reading  the  newspaper.  You  won't  dis 
turb  him." 

"  Well,  you  won't  say  any  thing  about  it?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

Ellen  accordingly  went  near  and  said  gently,  "  Mr.  Humphreys," 
— but  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  "  Mr.  Humphreys,!" — a  little 
louder. 

"  He  has  not  arrived  yet,"  said  John,  looking  round  gravely. 

He  spoke  so  gravely  that  Ellen  could  not  tell  whether  he  were 
joking  or  serious.  Her  face  of  extreme  perplexity  was  too  much 
for  his  command  of  countenance.  "  Whom  do  you  want  to  speak 
to?"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "  if  you  are  not  too 
busy." 

26 


302  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Mr,  Humphreys  is  always  busy,"  said  he,  shaking  his  head; 
"  but  Mr.  John  can  attend  to  you  at  any  time,  and  John  will  do  for 
you  whatever  you  please  to  ask  him." 

"Then,  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "if  you  please,  I 
wanted  to  ask  you  to  do  something  for  me  very  much  indeed,  if 
you  are  not  too  busy ;  Alice  said  I  shouldn't  disturb  you." 

"  Not  at  all ;  I've  been  long  enough  over  this  stupid  newspaper. 
What  is  it?" 

"  I  want  you,  if  you  will  be  so  good,"  said  Ellen,  "to  write  a 
little  bit  for  me  on  something,  very  beautifully." 

"  '  Very  beautifully  !'    Well — come  to  the  library ;  we  will  see." 

"  But  it  is  a  great  secret,"  said  Ellen:  "you  won't  tell  any 
body?" 

"Tortures  shan't  draw  it  from  me — when  I  know  what  it  is," 
said  he,  with  one  of  his  comical  looks. 

In  high  glee  Ellen  ran  for  the  pieces  of  Bristol  board  which 
were  to  form  the  backs  of  the  needlebook,  and  brought  them  to  the 
library ;  and  explained  how  room  was  to  be  left  in  the  middle  of 
each  for  a  painting,  a  rose  on  one,  a  butterfly  on  the  other ;  the 
writing  to  be  as  elegant  as  possible,  above,  beneath,  and  round 
about,  as  the  fancy  of  the  writer  should  choose. 

"  Well,  what  is  to  be  inscribed  on  this  most  original  of  needle- 
books  ?"  said  John,  as  he  carefully  mended  his  pen. 

"  Stop  !" — said  Ellen, — "  I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute — on  this  one, 
the  front  you  know,  is  to  go,  '  To  my  dear  mother,  many  happy 
New  Years ;' — and  on  this  side,  '  From  her  dear  little  daughter, 
Ellen  Chauncey.'  You  know,"  she  added,  "Mrs.  Chauncey  isn't 
to  know  any  thing  about  it  till  New  Year's  Day;  nor  any  body 
else." 

"  Trust  me,"  said  John.  "If  I  am  asked  any  questions  they 
shall  find  me  as  obscure  as  an  oracle." 

"What  is  an  oracle,  sir?" 

"  Why,"  said  John  smiling,  "  this  pen  won't  do  yet — the  old 
heathens  believed  there  were  certain  spots  of  earth  to  which  some 
of  their  gods  had  more  favour  than  to  others,  and  where  they 
would  permit  mortals  to  come  nearer  to  them  and  would  even  deign 
to  answer  their  questions." 

"  And  did  they?"  said  Ellen. 

"Did  they  what?" 

"  Did  they  answer  their  questions  ?" 

"  Did  who  answer  their  questions  ?" 

"  The — oh  !  to  be  sure,"  said  Ellen, — "  there  were  no  such  gods. 
But  what  made  people  think  they  answered  them  ?  and  how  could 
they  ask  questions  ?" 

u  I  suppose  it  was  a  contrivance  of  the  priests  to  increase  their 
power  and  wealth.  There  was  always  a  temple  built  near,  with 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  303 

priests  and  priestesses  ;  the  questions  were  put  through  them  ;  and 
they  would  not  ask  them  except  on  great  occasions,  or  for  people 
of  consequence  who  could  pay  them  well  by  making  splendid  gifts 
to  the  god." 

"  But  I  should  think  the  people  would  have  thought  the  priest 
or  priestess  had  made  up  the  answers  themselves." 

"  Perhaps  they  did  sometimes.  But  people  had  not  the  Bible 
then,  and  did  not  know  as  much  as  we  know.  It  was  not  unnatural 
to  think  the  gods  would  care  a  little  for  the  poor  people  that  lived 
on  the  earth.  Besides,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  management  and 
trickery  about  the  answers  of  the  oracle  that  helped  to  deceive." 

"  How  was  it?"  said  Ellen; — "how  could  they  manage  ?  and 
what  was  ^the  oracle  ?" 

"  The  oracle  was  either  the  answer  itself,  or  the  god  who  was 
supposed  to  give  it,  or  the  place  where  it  was  given  ;  and  there 
were  diiferent  ways  of  managing.  At  one  place  the  priest  hid  him 
self  in  the  hollow  body  or  among  the  branches  of  an  oak  tree,  and 
people  thought  the  tree  spoke  to  them.  Sometimes  the  oracle  was 
delivered  by  a  woman  who  pretended  to  be  put  into  a  kind  of  fit — 
tearing  her  hair  and  beating  her  breast." 

"But  suppose  the  oracle  made  a  mistake? — what  would  the 
people  think  then?" 

"The  answers  were  generally  contrived  so  that  they  would  seem 
to  come  true  in  any  event." 

"I  don't  see  how  they  could  do  that,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Very  well — just  imagine  that  I  am  an  oracle,  and  come  to  me 
with  some  question  ; — I'll  answer  you." 

"  But  you  can't  tell  what's  going  to  happen  ?" 

"  No  matter — you  ask  me  truly  and  I'll  answer  you  oracularly." 

"That  means,  like  an  oracle,  I  suppose?"  said  Ellen.  "  Well — 
Mr.  John,  will  Alice  be  pleased  with  what  I  am  going  to  give  her 
New  Year?" 

"  She  will  be  pleased  with  what  she  will  receive  on  that  day." 

"Ah,  but,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "that  isn't  fair;  you  haven't 
answered  me ;  perhaps  somebody  else  will  give  her  something,  and 
then  she  might  be  pleased  with  that  and  not  with  mine." 

"  Exactly — but  the  oracle  never  means  to  be  understood." 

"Well,  I  won't  come  to  you,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  don't  like  such 
answers.  Now  for  the  needlebook  !" 

Breathlessly  she  looked  on  while  the  skilful  pen  did  its  work ; 
and  her  exclamations  of  delight  and  admiration  when  the  first 
cover  was  handed  to  her  were  not  loud  but  deep. 

"It  will  do,  then,  will  it?  Now  let  us  see — 'From  her  dear 
little  daughter,' — there — now  '  Ellen  Chauncey'  I  suppose  must 
be  in  hieroglyphics." 

"In  what?"  said  Ellen. 


304  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  mean  written  in  some  difficult  character." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen.     "  But  what  was  tha*  yoi:  said  ?" 

"  Hieroglyphics  ?" 

Ellen  added  no  more,  though  she  was  not  satisfied.  He  looked 
up  and  smiled. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  what  that  means  ?" 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,"  said  Ellen. 

The  pen  was  laid  down  while  he  explained,  to  a  most  eager  little 
listener.  Even  the  great  business  of  the  moment  was  forgotten. 
From  hieroglyphics  they  went  to  the  pyramids  ;  and  Ellen  had  got 
to  the  top  of  one  and  was  enjoying  the  prospect  (in  imagination), 
when  she  suddenly  came  down  to  tell  John  of  her  stuffed  stocking 
and  its  contents.  The  pen  went  on  again,  and  came  to  the  end  of 
the  writing  by  the  time  Ellen  had  got  to  the  toe  of  the  stocking. 

"  Wasn't  it  very  strange  they  should  give  me  so  many  things?" 
said  she  ; — "  people  that  don't  know  me  ?" 

u  Why,  no,"  said  John  smiling, — "  I  cannot  say  I  think  it  was 
very  strange.  Is  this  all  the  business  you  had  for  my  hands  ?" 

"  This  is  all ;  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  Mr.  John." 

Her  grateful  affectionate  eye  said  much  more,  and  he  felt  well  paid. 

Gilbert  was  next  applied  to,  to  paint  the  rose  and  the  butterfly, 
which,  finding  so  excellent  a  beginning  made  in  the  work,  he  was  very 
ready  to  do.  The  girls  were  then  free  to  set  about  the  embroidery 
of  the  leaves,  which  was  by  no  means  the  business  of  an  hour. 

A  very  happy  Christmas  day  was  that.  With  their  needles  and 
thimbles,  and  rose-coloured  silk,  they  kept  by  themselves  in  a 
corner,  or  in  the  library,  out  of  the  way ;  and  sweetening  their 
talk  with  a  sugar-plum  now  and  then,  neither  tongues  nor  needles 
knew  any  flagging.  It  was  wonderful  what  they  found  so  much 
to  say,  but  there  was  no  lack.  Ellen  Chauncey  especially  was 
inexhaustible.  Several  times  too  that  day  the  Cologne  bottle  was 
handled,  the  gloves  looked  at  and  fondled,  the  ball  tried,  and  the 
new  scissors  extolled  as  "just  the  thing  for  their  work."  Ellen 
attempted  to  let  her  companion  into  the  mystery  of  oracles  and 
hieroglyphics,  but  was  fain  to  give  it  up ;  little  Ellen  showed  a 
decided  preference  for  American,  not  to  say  Ventnor,  subjects, 
where  she  felt  more  at  home. 

Then  came  Mr.  Humphreys  ;  and  Ellen  was  glad,  both  for  her 
own  sake  and  because  she  loved  to  see  Alice  pleased.  Then  came 
the  great  merry  Christmas  dinner,  when  the  girls  had,  not  talked 
themselves  out,  but  tired  themselves  with  working.  Young  and 
old  dined  together  to-day,  and  the  children  not  set  by  themselves, 
but  scattered  among  the  grown-up  people  ;  and  as  Ellen  was  nicely 
placed  between  Alice  and  little  Ellen  Chauncey,  she  enjoyed  it  all 
very  much.  The  large  long  table  surrounded  with  happy  faces; 
tones  of  cheerfulness  and  looks  of  kindness,  and  lively  talkj  the 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  305 

superb  display  of  plate  and  glass  and  china ;  the  stately  dinner ; 
and  last  but  not  least,  the  plum  pudding.  There  was  sparkling 
wine  too,  and  a  great  deal  of  drinking  of  healths ;  but  Ellen 
noticed  that  Alice  and  her  brother  smilingly  drank  all  theirs  in 
water;  so  when  old  Mr.  Marshman  called  to  her  to  "  hold  out  her 
glass,"  she  held  it  out  to  be  sure  and  let  him  fill  it,  but  she  lifted 
her  tumbler  of  water  to  her  lips  instead,  after  making  him  a  very 
low  bow.  Mr.  Marshman  laughed  at  her  a  great  deal,  and  asked 
her  if  she  was  "a  proselyte  to  the  new  notions;"  and  Ellen 
laughed  with  him,  without  having  the  least  idea  what  he  meant, 
and  was  extremely  happy.  It  was  very  pleasant  too  when  they 
went  into  the  drawing-room  to  take  coffee.  The  young  ones  were 
permitted  to  have  coffee  to-night  as  a  great  favour.  Old  Mrs. 
Marshman  had  the  two  little  ones  on  either  side  of  her ;  and  was 
so  kind,  and  held  Ellen's  hand  in  her  own,  and  talked  to  her  about 
her  mother,  till  Ellen  loved  her. 

After  tea  there  was  a  great  call  for  games,  and  young  and  old 
joined  in  them.  They  played  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop ;  and  Ellen 
thought  Mr.  John's  curiosities  could  not  be  matched.  They  played 
the  Old  Family  Coach,  Mr.  Howard  Marshman  being  the  manager, 
and  Ellen  laughed  till  she  was  tired  ;  she  was  the  coach  door,  and 
he  kept  her  opening  and  shutting  and  swinging  and  breaking,  it 
seemed  all  the  while,  though  most  of  the  rest  were  worked  just  as 
hard.  When  they  were  well  tired  they  sat  down  to  rest  and  hear 
music,  and  Ellen  enjoyed  that  exceedingly.  Alice  sang,  and  Mrs. 
Gillespie,  and  Miss  Sophia,  and  another  lady,  and  Mr.  Howard ; 
sometimes  alone,  sometimes  three  or  four  or  all  together. 

At  last  came  ten  o'clock  and  the  young  ones  were  sent  off;  and 
from  beginning  to  end  that  had  been  a  Christmas  day  of  unbroken 
and  unclouded  pleasure.  Ellen's  last  act  was  to  take  another  look 
at  her  Cologne  bottle,  gloves,  pincushion,  grapes,  and  paper  of 
sugar-plums,  which  were  laid  side  by  side  carefully  in  a  drawer. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

But  though  life's  valley  be  a  vale  of  tears, 
A  brighter  scene  beyond  that  vale  appears, 
Whose  glory,  with  a  light  that  never  fades, 
Shoots  between  scattered  rocks  and  opening  shades. 

COWPER. 

MR.  HUMPHREYS  was  persuaded  to  stay  over  Sunday  at  Ventnor ; 

and  it  was  also  settled  that  his  children  should  not  leave  it  till  after 

New  Year.     This  was  less  their  own  wish  than  his ;  he  said  Alice 

wanted  the  change,  and  he  wished  she  looked  a  little  fatter.     Be- 

u  26* 


306  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

sides,  the  earnest  pleadings  of  the  whole  family  were  not  to  be  de 
nied.  Ellen  was  very  glad  of  this,  though  there  was  one  drawback 
to  the  pleasures  of  Ventnor, — she  could  not  feel  quite  at  home  with 
any  of  the  young  people  but  only  Ellen  Chauncey  and  her  cousin 
George  Walsh.  This  seemed  very  strange  to  her;  she  almost 
thought  Margaret  Dunscombe  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  but  she 
recollected  she  had  felt  something  of  this  before  Margaret  came. 
She  tried  to  think  nothing  about  it ;  and  in  truth  it  was  not  able  to 
prevent  her  from  being  very  happy.  The  breach  however  was  des 
tined  to  grow  wider. 

About  four  miles  from  Ventnor  was  a  large  town  called  Ran 
dolph.  Thither  they  drove  to  church  Sunday  morning,  the  whole 
family  ;  but  the  hour  of  dinner  and  the  distance  prevented  any  one 
from  going  in  the  afternoon.  The  members  of  the  family  were 
scattered  in  different  parts  of  the  house,  most  in  their  own  rooms. 
Ellen  with  some  difficulty  made  her  escape  from  her  young  com 
panions,  whose  manner  of  spending  the  time  did  not  satisfy  her 
notions  of  what  was  right  on  that  day,  and  went  to  look  in  the 
library  for  her  friends.  They  were  there,  and  alone ;  Alice  half 
reclining  on  the  sofa,  half  in  her  brother's  arms;  he  was. reading 
or  talking  to  her  j  there  was  a  book  in  his  hand. 

"Is  any  thing  the  matter?"  said  Ellen,  as  she  drew  near; 
"aren't  you  well,  dear  Alice? — Headache?  oh,  I  am  sorry.  Oh! 
I  know " 

She  darted  away.  In  two  minutes  she  was  back  again  with  a 
pleased  face,  her  bunch  of  grapes  in  one  hand,  her  bottle  of 
Cologne  water  in  the  other. 

"  Won't  you  open  that,  please,  Mr.  John,"  said  she ; — "  I  can't 
open  it ;  I  guess  it  will  do  her  good,  for  Ellen  says  it's  delicious. 
Mamma  used  to  have  Cologne  water  for  her  headaches.  And  here, 
dear  Alice,  won't  you  eat  these? — do  ! — try  one.'* 

"  Hasn't  that  bottle  been  open  yet?"  said  Alice,  as  she  smilingly 
took  a  grape. 

"  Why  no,  to  be  sure  it  hasn't.  I  wasn't  going  to  open  it  till  I 
wanted  it.  Eat  them  all,  dear  Alice, — please  do  !" 

"  But  I  don't  think  you  have  eaten  one  yourself,  Ellen,  by  the 
look  of  the  bunch.  And  here  are  a  great  many  too  many  for  me." 

"Yes  I  have,  I've  eaten  two;  I  don't  want  'em.  I  give  them 
all  to  you  and  Mr.  John.  I  had  a  great  deal  rather !" 

Ellen  took  however  as  precious  payment  Alice's  look  and  kiss ; 
and  then  with  a  delicate  consciousness  that  perhaps  the  brother 
and  sister  might  like  to  be  alone,  she  left  the  library.  She  did  not 
know  where  to  go,  for  Miss  Sophia  was  stretched  on  the  bed  in  her 
room,  and  she  did  not  want  any  company.  At  last  with  her  little 
Bible  she  placed  herself  on  the  old  sofa  in  the  hall  above  stairs, 
which  was  perfectly  well  warmed,  and  for  some  time  she  was  left 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  307 

there  in  peace.  It  was  pleasant,  after  all  the  hubbub  of  the  morn 
ing,  to  have  a  little  quiet  time  that  seemed  like  Sunday ;  and  the 
sweet  Bible  words  came,  as  they  often  now  came  to  Ellen,  with  a 
healing  breath.  But  after  half  an  hour  or  so,  to  her  dismay  she 
heard  a  door  open  and  the  whole  gang  of  children  come  trooping 
into  the  hall  below,  where  they  soon  made  such  a  noise  that  read 
ing  or  thinking  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  What  a  bother  it  is  that  one  can't  play  games  on  a  Sunday  !" 
said  Marianne  Gillespie. 

"  One  can  play  games  on  a  Sunday,"  answered  her  brother. 
"  Where's  the  odds  ?  It's  all  Sunday's  good  for,  /  think." 

"William! — William!"  sounded  the  shocked  voice  of  little 
Ellen  Chauncey, — "  you're  a  real  wicked  boy  !" 

"  Well  now  !"  said  William, — "  how  am  I  wicked  ?  Now  say, — 
I  should  like  to  know.  How  is  it  any  more  wicked  for  us  to  play 
games  than  it  is  for  aunt  Sophia  to  lie  abed  and  sleep,  or  for  uncle 
Howard  to  read  novels,  or  for  grandpa  to  talk  politics,  or  for  mother 
to  talk  about  the  fashions? — there  were  she  and  Miss  What's-her- 
name  for  ever  so  long  this  morning  doing  every  thing  but  make 
a  dress.  Now  which  is  the  worst?" 

"  Oh,  William  !— William !— for  shame  !  for  shame !"  said  little 
Ellen  again. 

11  Do  hush,  Ellen  Chauncey!  will  you?"  said  Marianne,  sharply, 
— "and  you  had  better  hush  too,  William,  if  you  know  what  is 
good  for  yourself.  I  don't  care  whether  it's  right  or  wrong,  I  do 
get  dolefully  tired  with  doing  nothing/' 

"  Oh,  so  do  I !"  said  Margaret,  yawning.  "  I  wish  one  could 
sleep  all  Sunday." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  George,  u  I  know  a  game  we  can  play, 
and  no  harm,  either,  for  it's  all  out  of  the  Bible." 

"Oh,  do  you?  let's  hear  it,  George,"  cried  the  girls. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is  good  for  anything  if  it  is  out  of  the  Bible," 
said  Margaret.  "  Now  stare,  Ellen  Chauncey,  do  !" 

"I  ain't  staring,"  said  Ellen  indignantly, — "  but  I  don't  believe 
it  is  right  to  play  it,  if  it  is  out  of  the  Bible." 

"  Well  it  is  though,"  said  George.  "  Now  listen  ;— I'll  think  of 
somebody  in  the  Bible, — some  man  or  woman,  you  know ;  and  you 
all  may  ask  me  twenty  questions  about  him  to  see  if  you  can  find 
out  who  it  is." 

"  What  kind  of  questions  ?" 

"  Any  kind  of  questions — whatever  you  like." 

"  That  will  improve  your  knowledge  of  scripture  history,"  said 
Gilbert. 

"  To  be  sure ;  and  exercise  our  memory,"  said  Isabel  Hawthorn. 

"  Yes,  and  then  we  are  thinking  of  good  people  and  what  they 
did,  all  the  time,"  said  little  Ellen. 


308  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

11  Or  bad  people  and  what  they  did."  said  William. 

"But  I  don't  know  enough  about  people  and  things  in  the 
Bible,"  said  Margaret;  "I  couldn't  guess." 

"  Oh,  never  mind — it  will  be  all  the  more  fun,"  said  George. 
"  Come  1  let's  begin.  Who'll  take  somebody  ?" 

"Oh,  I  think  this  will  be  fine!"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey;— 
"  but  Ellen — where' s  Ellen  ? — we  want  her." 

"  No  we  don't  want  her ! — we've  enough  without  her — she  won't 
play  !"  shouted  William,  as  the  little  girl  ran  up  stairs.  She  per 
severed  however.  Ellen  had  left  her  sofa  before  this,  and  was 
found  seated  on  the  foot  of  her  bed.  As  far  and  as  long  as  she 
could  she  withstood  her  little  friend's  entreaties,  and  very  unwill 
ingly  at  last  yielded  and  went  with  her  down  stairs. 

"Now  we  are  ready,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey;  "I  have  told 
Ellen  what  the  game  is ;  who's  going  to  begin  ?" 

"We  have  begun,"  said  William.  "  Gilbert  has  thought  of 
somebody.  Man  or  woman?" 

"Man." 

"Young  or  old?" 

"  Why — he  was  young  first  and  old  afterwards." 

"Pshaw,  William!  what  a  ridiculous  question,"  said  his  sister. 
"  Besides  you  mustn't  ask  more  than  one  at  a  time.  Rich  or  poor, 
Gilbert?" 

"  Humph  ! — why  I  suppose  he  was  moderately  well  off.  I  dare 
say  I  should  think  myself  a  lucky  fellow  if  I  had  as  much." 

"  Are  you  answering  truly,  Gilbert?" 

"  Upon  my  honour  !" 

"Was  he  in  a  high  or  low  station  of  life?"  asked  Miss  Haw 
thorn. 

"Neither  at  the  top  nor  the  bottom  of  the  ladder — a  very  re 
spectable  person  indeed." 

"  But  we  are  not  getting  on,"  said  Margaret ;  "  according  to  you 
he  wasn't  any  thing  in  particular ;  what  kind  of  a  person  was  he, 
Gilbert?" 

"  A  very  good  man.'* 

"  Handsome  or  ugly  ?" 

"  History  don't  say." 

"  Well,  what  does  it  say  ?"   said  George, — "  what  did  he  do  ?" 

"  He  took  a  journey  once  upon  a  time." 

"What  for?" 

"  Do  you  mean  why  he  went,  or  what  was  the  object  of  his 
going?" 

"  Why  the  one's  the  same  as  the  other,  ain't  it?" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"Well,  what  was  the  object  of  his  going?" 

"He  went  after  a  wife." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  309 

"Samson!  Samson  1"  shouted  William  and  Isabel  and  Ellen 
Chauncey. 

"  No — it  wasn't  Samson  either." 

"  I  can't  think  of  any  body  else  that  went  after  a  wife,"  said 
G-eorge.  "  That  king — what's  his  name  ? — that  married  Esther  ?" 

The  children  screamed.  "  He  didn't  go  after  a  wife,  George, — • 
his  wives  were  brought  to  him.  Was  it  Jacob  ?" 

"  No — he  didn't  go  after  a  wife  either,"  said  Gilbert ;  "he  mar 
ried  two  of  them,  but  he  didn't  go  to  his  uncle's  to  find  them.  You 
had  better  go  on  with  your  questions.  You  have  had  eight  already. 
If  you  don't  look  out  you  won't  catch  me.  Come !" 

"  Did  he  get  the  wife  that  he  went  after?"  asked  Ellen  Chaun 
cey. 

"  He  was  never  married  that  I  know  of,"  said  Gilbert. 

"  What  was  the  reason  he  failed?"   said  Isabel. 

«  He  did  not  fail." 

"  Did  he  bring  home  his  wife  then  ?  you  said  he  wasn't  married." 

"He  never  was,  that  I  know  of;  but  he  brought  home  a  wife 
notwithstanding.' ' 

"  But  how  funny  you  are,  Gilbert,"  said  little  Ellen, — "he  had 
a  wife  and  he  hadn't  a  wife ; — what  became  of  her?" 

"  She  lived  and  nourished.     Twelve  questions  ; — take  care." 

"Nobody  asked  what  country  he  was  of,"  said  Margaret, — 
"  what  was  he,  Gilbert?" 

"  He  was  a  Damascene."  iili  *i 

"Awftof/V 

"  Of  Damascus — of  Damascus.  You  know  where  Damascus  is, 
don't  you?" 

"  Fiddle  !"  said  Marianne, — "  I  thought  he  was  a  Jew.  Did  he 
live  before  or  after  the  flood  ?" 

"  After.     I  should  think  you  might  have  known  that." 

"  Well,  I  can't  make  out  any  thing  about  him,"  said  Marianne. 
"  We  shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

"  No,  no, — not  yet,"  said  William.  "  Where  did  he  go  after  his 
wife  ?" 

"Too  close  a  question." 

"  Then  that  don't  count.     Had  he  ever  seen  her  before  ?" 

"Never." 

"  Was  she  willing  to  go  with  him  ?" 

"  Very  willing.    Ladies  always  are  when  they  go  to  be  married." 

"And  what  became  of  her?" 

"  She  was  married  and  lived  happily, — as  I  told  you." 

"  But  you  said  he  wasn't  married  ?" 

" Well,  what  then ?     I  didn't  say  she  married  him" 

"  Whom  did  she  marry  ?" 

"  Ah  that  is  asking  the  whole ;  I  can't  tell  you." 


310  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Had  they  far  to  go  ?"  asked  Isabel. 

"  Several  days'  journey, — I  don't  know  how  far." 

"  How  did  they  travel  ?" 

"  On  camels." 

«  Was  it  the  Queen  of  Sheba !"  said  little  Ellen. 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  at  this  happy  thought,  and  poor 
little  Ellen  declared  she  forgot  all  but  about  the  journey ;  she 
remembered  the  Queen  of  Sheba  had  taken  a  journey,  and  the 
camels  in  the  picture  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  and  that  made  her 
think  of  her. 

The  children  gave  up.  Questioning  seemed  hopeless ;  and  Gil 
bert  at  last  told  them  his  thought.  It  was  Eleazar,  Abraham's 
steward,  whom  he  sent  to  fetch  a  wife  for  his  son  Isaac. 

"Why  haven't  you  guessed,  little  mumchance  ?"  said  Gilbert 
to  Ellen  Montgomery. 

"  I  have  guessed,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  knew  who  it  was  some  time 
ago." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  say  so?  and  you  haven't  asked  a  single 
question,"  said  George. 

"  No,  you  haven't  asked  a  single  question,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey. 

"  She  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  that,"  said  William ;  u  she 
thinks  it  is  wicked,  and  that  we  are  not  at  all  nice  proper-behaved 
boys  and  girls  to  be  playing  on  Sunday  j  she  is  very  sorry  she 
could  not  help  being  amused." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  wicked,  Ellen?"  asked  her  little  friend. 

"  Do  you  think  it  isn't  right?"  said  George  Walsh. 

Ellen  hesitated  ;  she  saw  they  were  all  waiting  to  hear  what  she 
would  say.  She  coloured,  and  looked  down  at  her  little  Bible 
which  was  still  in  her  hand.  It  encouraged  her. 

"I  don't  want  to  say  any  thing  rude,"  she  began; — "I  don't 
think  it  is  quite  right  to  play  such  plays,  or  any  plays." 

She  was  attacked  with  impatient  cries  of  "Why  not?"  "Why 
not?" 

"  Because,"  said  Ellen,  trembling  with  the  effort  she  made, — 
"  I  think  Sunday  was  meant  to  be  spent  in  growing  better  and 
learning  good  things;  and  I  don't  think  such  plays  would  help 
one  at  all  to  do  that ;  and  I  have  a  kind  of  feeling  that  I  ought 
not  to  do  it." 

"  Well  I  hope  you'll  act  according  to  your  feelings  then,"  said 
William;  "I  am  sure  nobody  has  any  objection.  You  had  better 
go  somewhere  else  though,  for  we  are  going  on  ;  we  have  been 
learning  to  be  good  long  enough  for  one  day.  Come  1  I  have 
thought  of  somebody." 

Ellen  could  not  help  feeling  hurt  and  sorry  at  the  half  sneer 
she  saw  in  the  look  and  manner  of  the  others  as  well  as  in  Wil 
liam's  words.  She  wished  for  no  better  than  to  go  away,  but  as 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  311 

she  did  so  her  bosom  swelled  and  the  tears  started  and  her  breath 
came  quicker.  She  found  Alice  lying  down  and  asleep,  Miss 
Sophia  beside  her ;  so  she  stole  out  again  and  went  down  to  the 
library.  Finding  nobody,  she  took  possession  of  the  sofa  and 
tried  to  read  again ;  reading  somehow  did  not  go  well,  and  she  fell 
to  musing  on  what  had  just  passed.  She  thought  of  the  unkind- 
ness  of  the  children ;  how  sure  she  was  it  was  wrong  to  spend  any 
part  of  Sunday  in  such  games ;  what  Alice  would  think  of  it, 
and  John,  and  her  mother ;  and  how  the  Sundays  long  ago  used 
to  be  spent,  when  that  dear  mother  was  with  her ;  and  then  she 
wondered  how  she  was  passing  this  very  one, — while  Ellen  was 
sitting  here  in  the  library  alone,  what  she  was  doing  in  that  far 
away  land  ;  and  she  thought  if  there  only  were  such  things  as 
oracles  that  could  tell  truly,  how  much  she  would  like  to  ask  about 
her. 

"  Ellen  !"  said  the  voice  of  John  from  the  window. 

She  started  up  ;  she  had  thought  she  was  alone ;  but  there  he 
was  lying  in  the  window  seat. 

"  What  are  you  doing?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Come  here.  What  are  you  thinking  about?  I  didn't  know 
you  were  there  till  I  heard  two  or  three  very  long  sighs.  What  is 
the  matter  with  my  little  sister?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  fondly  up  to  him.  "  What  were 
you  thinking  about?" 

"  I  was  thinking  about  different  things, — nothing  is  the  matter," 
said  Ellen. 

"  Then  what  are  those  tears  in  your  eyes  for?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she  laughing, — "  there  weren't  any  till  I 
came  here.  I  was  thinking  just  now  about  mamma." 

He  said  no  more,  still  however  keeping  her  beside  him. 

"I  should  think,"  said  Ellen  presently,  after  a  few  minutes' 
musing  look  out  of  the  window, — "it  would  be  very  pleasant  if 
there  were  such  things  as  oracles — don't  you,  Mr.  John?" 

"No." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  something  about  what's  going 
to  happen  ?' ' 

"  I  do  know  a  great  deal  about  it." 

"  About  what  is  going  to  happen  !" 

He  smiled. 

"  Yes — a  great  deal,  Ellie, — enough  to  give  me  work  for  all  the 
rest  of  my  life." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  from  the  Bible  ! — I  was  thinking  of  other 
things." 

"  It  is  best  not  to  know  the  other  things,  Ellie  ; — I  am  very  glad 
to  know  those  the  Bible  teaches  us." 


312 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


"  But  it  doesn't  tell  us  much,  does  it?     What  does  it  tell  us?" 

"Go  to  the  window  and  tell  me  what  you  see." 

"I  don't  see  any  thing  in  particular,"  said  Ellen,  after  taking 

a  grave  look-out. 

u  Well,  what  in  general?" 

"  Why  there  is  the  lawn  covered  with  snow,  and  the  trees  and 

bushes;  and  the  sun  is  shining  on  every  thing  just  as  it  did  the 


day  we  came ;  and  there's  the  long  shadow  of  that  hemlock  across 
the  snow,  and  the  blue  sky." 

"  Now  look  out  again,  Ellie,  and  listen.  I  know  that  a  day  is 
to  come  when  those  heavens  shall  be  wrapped  together  as  a  scroll — 
they  shall  vanish  away  like  smoke,  and  the  earth  shall  wax  old  like 
a  garment ; — and  it  and  all  the  works  that  are  therein  shall  be 
burned  up." 

As  he  spoke  Ellen's  fancy  tried  to  follow, — to  picture  the  ruin 
and  desolation  of  all  that  stood  so  fair  and  seemed  to  stand  so  firm 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  313 

before  her ; — but  the  sun  shone  on,  the  branches  waved  gently  in 
the  wind,  the  shadows  lay  still  on  the  snow,  and  the  blue  heaven 
was  fair  and  cloudless.  Fancy  was  baffled.  She  turned  from  the 
window. 

"  Do  you  believe  it  ?"  said  John. 

"Yes,"  said  Ellen,—"!  know  it;  but  I  think  it  is  very  dis 
agreeable  to  think  about  it.'* 

"  It  would  be,  Ellie,"  said  he,  bringing  her  again  to  his  side, — 
"  very  disagreeable — very  miserable  indeed,  if  we  knew  no  more 
than  that.  But  we  know  more — read  here." 

Ellen  took  his  little  Bible  and  read  at  the  open  place. 

"  '  Behold,  I  create  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth,  and  the  former 
shall  not  be  remembered,  neither  come  into  mind/  " 

"  Why  won't  they  be  remembered?"  said  Ellen  ;  "  shall  we  for 
get  all  about  them." 

"No,  I  do  not  think  that  is  meant.  The  new  heavens  and  the 
new  earth  will  be  so  much  more  lovely  and  pleasant  that  we  shall 
not  want  to  think  of  these." 

Ellen's  eye  sought  the  window  again. 

"  You  are  thinking  that  it  is  hardly  possible?"  said  John  with 
a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  possible"  said  Ellen, — "  but " 

"  But  lovely  as  this  world  is,  Ellie,  man  has  filled  it  with  sin, 
and  sin  has  everywhere  brought  its  punishment,  and  under  the 
weight  of  both  the  earth  groans.  There  will  be  no  sin  there; 
sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away ;  love  to  each  other  and  love  to 
their  blessed  King  will  fill  all  hearts,  and  his  presence  will  be  with 
them.  Don't  you  see  that  even  if  that  world  shall  be  in  itself  no 
better  than  this,  it  will  yet  be  far,  far  more  lovely  than  this  can 
ever  be  with  the  shadow  of  sin  upon  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  said  Ellen.  «  I  know  whenever  I  feel  wrong  in  any 
way  nothing  seems  pretty  or  pleasant  to  me,  or  not  half  so  much." 

"Very  well,"  said  John,-— "  I  see  you  understand  me.  I  like 
to  think  of  that  land,  Ellen, — very  much." 

"  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen, — "  don't  you  think  people  will  know 
each  other  again  ?" 

"Those  that  love  each  other  here? — I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

Before  either  John  or  Ellen  had  broken  the  long  musing  fit  that 
followed  these  words,  they  were  joined  by  Alice.  Her  head  was 
better ;  and  taking  her  place  in  the  window-seat,  the  talk  began 
again,  between  the  brother  and  sister  now ;  Ellen  too  happy  to  sit 
with  them  and  listen.  They  talked  of  that  land  again,  of  the 
happy  company  preparing  for  it;  of  their  dead  mother,  but 
not  much  of  her;  of  the  glory  of  their  King,  and  the  joy  of  his 
service,  even  here ;— till  thoughts  grew  too  strong  for  words,  and 
silence  again  stole  upon  the  group.  The  short  winter  day  came  to 
o  27 


314  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD, 

an  end ;  the  sunlight  faded  away  into  moonlight.  No  shadows  lay 
now  on  the  lawn ;  and  from  where  she  sat  Ellen  could  see  the  great 
hemlock  all  silvered  with  the  moonlight  which  began  to  steal  in  at 
the  window.  It  was  very,  very  beautiful ; — yet  she  could  think 
now  without  sorrow  that  all  this  should  come  to  an  end ;  because 
of  that  new  heaven  and  new  earth  wherein  righteousness  should 
dwell. 

"  We  have  eaten  up  all  your  grapes,  Ellie,"  said  Alice, — "  or 
rather  /have,  for  John  didn't  help  me  much.  I  think  I  never  ate 
so  sweet  grapes  in  my  life ;  John  said  the  reason  was  because  every 
one  tasted  of  you." 

"I  am  very  glad,'*  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  There  is  no  evil  without  some  good,"  Alice  went  on  ; — "  except 
for  my  headache  John  would  not  have  held  my  head  by  the  hour 
as  he  did;  and  you  couldn't  have  given  me  the  pleasure  you  did, 
Ellie.  Oh,  Jack  ! — there  has  been  many  a  day  lately  when  I  would 
gladly  have  had  a  headache  for  the  power  of  laying  my  head  on 
your  shoulder !' ' 

l<  And  if  mamma  had  not  gone  away  I  should  never  have  known 
you/'  said  Ellen.  "  I  wish  she  never  had  gone,  but  I  am  very, 
very  glad  for  this  !" 

She  had  kneeled  upon  the  window-seat  and  clasped  Alice  round 
the  neck,  just  as  they  were  called  to  tea.  The  conversation  had 
banished  every  disagreeable  feeling  from  Ellen's  mind.  She  met 
her  companions  in  the  drawing-room  almost  forgetting  that  she  had 
any  cause  of  complaint  against  them.  And  this  appeared  when  in 
the  course  of  the  evening  it  came  in  her  way  to  perform  some  little 
office  of  politeness  for  Marianne.  It  was  done  with  the  graceful 
ness  that  could  only  come  from  a  spirit  entirely  free  from  ungrateful 
feelings.  The  children  felt  it,  and  for  the  time  were  shamed  into 
better  behaviour.  The  evening  passed  pleasantly,  and  Ellen  went 
to  bed  very  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


The  ancient  heroes  were  illustrious, 
For  being  benign,  and  not  blustrous." 

HUDIBRAS. 


THE  next  day  it  happened  that  the  young  people  were  amusing 
themselves  with  talking  in  a  room  where  John  Humphreys,  walk 
ing  up  and  down,  was  amusing  himself  with  thinking.  In  the 
course  of  his  walk,  he  began  to  find  their  amusement  rather  dis 
turbing  to  his.  The  children  were  all  grouped  closely  around 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  315 

Margaret  Dunscombe,  who  was  entertaining  them  with  a  long  and 
very  detailed  account  of  a  wedding  and  great  party  at  Randolph 
which  she  had  had  the  happiness  of  attending.  Eagerly  fighting 
her  battles  over  again,  and  pleased  with  the  rapt  attention  of  her 
hearers,  the  speaker  forgot  herself  and  raised  her  voice  much  more 
than  she  meant  to  do.  As  every  turn  of  his  walk  brought  John 
near,  there  came  to  his  ears  sufficient  bits  and  scraps  of  Margaret's 
story  to  give  him  a  very  fair  sample  of  the  whole  ;  and  he  was  sorry 
to  see  Ellen  among  the  rest,  and  as  the  rest,  hanging  upon  her 
lips  and  drinking  in  what  seemed  to  be  very  poor  nonsense.  "  Her 
gown  was  all  blue  satin,  trimmed  here, — arid  so, — you  know,  with 
the  most  exquisite  lace,  as  deep  as  that, — and  on  the  shoulders 
and  here — you  know,  it  was  looped  up  with  the  most  lovely 
bunches  of" — here  John  lost  the  sense.  When  he  came  near 
again  she  had  got  upon  a  different  topic — "  *  Miss  Simmons,'  says 
I,  *  what  did  you  do  that  for  ?'  <  Why/  says  she,  '  how  could  I 
help  it?  I  saw  Mr.  Payne  coming,  and  I  thought  I'd  get  behind 

you,  and  so .'  "  The  next  time  the  speaker  was  saying  with 

great  animation,  "And  lo,  and  behold,  when  I  was  in  the  midst 
of  all  my  pleasure,  up  comes  a  little  gentleman  of  about  his 

dimensions ."  He  had  not  taken  many  turns  when  he  saw 

that  Margaret's  nonsense  was  branching  out  right  and  left  into 
worse  than  nonsense. 

"  Ellen  !"  said  he  suddenly, — "  I  want  you  in  the  library." 

"  My  conscience  !"  said  Margaret  as  he  left  the  room, — "  King 
John  the  Second,  and  no  less." 

"  Don't  go  on  till  I  come  back,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  won't  be  three 
minutes  ;  just  wait  for  me." 

She  found  John  seated  at  one  of  the  tables  in  the  library  sharp 
ening  a  pencil. 

"  Ellen,"  said  he  in  his  usual  manner, — "I  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me." 

She  waited  eagerly  to  hear  what,  but  instead  of  telling  her  he 
took  a  piece  of  drawing  paper  and  began  to  sketch  something. 
Ellen  stood  by,  wondering  and  impatient  to  the  last  degree ;  not 
caring  however  to  show  her  impatience,  though  her  very  feet  were 
twitching  to  run  back  to  her  companions. 

"Ellen,"  said  John  as  he  finished  the  old  stump  of  a  tree  with 
one  branch  left  on  it,  and  a  little  bit  of  ground  at  the  bottom, 
"did  you  ever  try  your  hand  at  drawing?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Then  sit  down  here,"  said  he  rising  from  his  chair,  "  and  let 
me  see  what  you  can  make  of  that." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how,"  said  Ellen. 

<(  I  will  teach  you.  There  is  a  piece  of  paper,  and  this  pencil 
i*  sharp  enough.  Is  that  chair  too  low  for  you  r" 


316  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

He  placed  another,  and  with  extreme  unwillingness  and  some 
displeasure  Ellen  sat  down.  It  was  on  her  tongue  to  ask  if 
another  time  would  not  do,  but  somehow  she  could  not  get  the 
words  out.  John  showed  her  how  to  hold  her  pencil,  how  to  place 
her  paper,  where  to  begin,  and  how  to  go  on ;  and  then  went  to 
the  other  end  of  the  room  and  took  up  his  walk  again.  Ellen  at 
first  felt  more  inclined  to  drive  her  pencil  through  the  paper  than 
to  make  quiet  marks  upon  it.  However  necessity  was  upon  her. 
She  began  her  work ;  and  once  fairly  begun  it  grew  delightfully 
interesting.  Her  vexation  went  off  entirely ;  she  forgot  Margaret 
and  her  story ;  the  wrinkles  on  the  old  trunk  smoothed  those  on 
her  brow,  and  those  troublesome  leaves  at  the  branch  end  brushed 
away  all  thoughts  of  every  thing  else.  Her  cheeks  were  burning 
with  intense  interest,  when  the  library  door  burst  open  and  the 
whole  troop  of  children  rushed  in ;  they  wanted  Ellen  for  a  round 
game  in  which  all  their  number  were  needed ;  she  must  come 
directly. 

"  I  can't  come  just  yet,"  said  she  ;  "  I  must  finish  this  first." 
"  Afterwards  will  do  just  as  well,"  said  George  ; — "  come  Ellen, 
do  ! — you  can  finish  it  afterwards." 

"  No  I  can't,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  can't  leave  it  till  it's  done.  Why, 
I  thought  Mr.  John  was  here  1  I  didn't  see  him  go  out.  I'll  come 
in  a  little  while." 

"Did  he  set  you  about  that  precious  piece  of  business?"  said 
William. 
"  Yes." 

"I  declare,"  said  Margaret, — "he's  fitter  to  be  the  Grand  Turk 
than  any  one  else  I  know  of." 

"  I  don't  know  who  the  Grand  Turk  is,"  said  Ellen. 
"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  William,  putting  his  mouth  close  to  her  ear, 
and  speaking  in  a  disagreeable  loud  whisper, — "it's  the  biggest 
gobbler  in  the  yard." 

"Ain't  you  ashamed,  William  !"  cried  little  Ellen  Chauncey. 
"  That's  it  exactly,"  said  Margaret, — "always  strutting  about." 
"  He  isn't  a  bit,"  said  Ellen  very  angry;  "  I've  seen  people  a 
great  deal  more  like  gobblers  than  he  is." 

"Well,"  said  William,  reddening  in  his  turn,  "I  had  rather  at 
any  rate  be  a  good  turkey  gobbler  than  one  of  those  outlandish 
birds  that  have  an  appetite  for  stones  and  gkss  and  bits  of  mo 
rocco,  and  such  things.  Come,  let  us  leave  her  to  do  the  Grand 
Turk's  bidding.  Come,  Ellen  Chauncey — you  mustn't  stay  to  in 
terrupt  her — we  want  you  !" 

They  left  her  alone.  Ellen  had  coloured,  but  William's  words 
did  not  hit  very  sore  ;  since  John's  talk  with  her  about  the  matter 
referred  to  she  had  thought  of  it  humbly  and  wisely ;  it  is  only 
pride  that  makes  such  fault-finding  very  hard  to  bear.  Sho  was 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  317 

very  sorry  however  that  they  had  fallen  out  again,  and  that  her  own 
passion,  as  she  feared,  had  been  the  cause.  A  few  tears  had  to  be 
wiped  away  before  she  could  see  exactly  how  the  old  tree  stood, 
— then  taking  up  her  pencil  she  soon  forgot  every  thing  in  her 
work.  It  was  finished,  and  with  head  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the 
other,  she  was  looking  at  her  picture  with  very  great  satisfaction, 
when  her  eye  caught  the  figure  of  John  standing  before  her. 

"Is  it  done?"  said  he. 

"  It  is  done,"  said  Ellen  smiling,  as  she  rose  up  to  let  him  come. 
He  sat  down  to  look  at  it. 

"  It  is  very  well,  he  said, — "  better  than  I  expected, — it  is  very 
well  indeed.  Is  this  jour  first  trial,  Ellen?" 

"  Yes— the  first." 

"  You  found  it  pleasant  work?" 

"  Oh,  very  ! — very  pleasant.     I  like  it  dearly." 

"  Then  I  will  teach  you.  This  shows  you  have  a  taste  for  it, 
and  that  is  precisely  what  I  wanted  to  find  out.  I  will  give  you  an 
easier  copy  next  time.  I  rather  expected  when  you  sat  down," 
said  he,  smiling  a  little,  that  the  old  tree  would  grow  a  good  deal 
more  crooked  under  your  hands  than  I  meant  it  to  be." 

Ellen  blushed  exceedingly.  "  I  do  believe,  Mr.  John,"  she  said, 
stammering,  "  that  you  know  every  thing  I  am  thinking  about." 

"  I  might  do  that,  Ellen,  without  being  as  wise  as  an  oracle. 
But  I  do  not  expect  to  make  any  very  painful  discoveries  in  that 
line." 

Ellen  thought,  if  he  did  not,  it  would  not  be  her  fault.  She 
truly  repented  her  momentary  anger  and  hasty  speech  to  William. 
Not  that  he  did  not  deserve  it,  or  that  it  was  not  true ;  but  it  was 
unwise,  and  had  done  mischief,  and  "it  was  not  a  bit  like  peace 
making,  nor  meek  at  all,"  Ellen  said  to  herself.  She  had  been 
reading  that  morning  the  fifth  chapter  of  Matthew,  and  it  ran  in 
her  head,  "Blessed  are  the  meek," — "Blessed  are  the  peace 
makers:  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children  of  God."  She  strove 
to  get  back  a  pleasant  feeling  toward  her  young  companions,  and 
prayed  that  she  might  not  be  angry  at  any  thing  they  should  say. 
She  was  tried  again  at  tea-time. 

Miss  Sophia  had  quitted  the  table,  bidding  William  hand  the 
doughnuts  to  those  who  could  not  reach  them.  Marianne  took  a 
great  while  to  make  her  choice.  Her  brother  grew  impatient. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  have  suited  yourself,"  said  he.  "  Come, 
Miss  Montgomery,  don't  you  be  as  long;  my  arm  is  tired.  Shut 
your  eyes,  and  then  you'll  be  sure  to  get  the  biggest  one  in  the 
basket." 

"No,  Ellen,"  said  John,  who  none  of  the  children  thought  was 
near, — "it  would  be  ungenerous — I  wouldn't  deprive  Master  Wil 
liam  of  his  best  arguments." 

27* 


318  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  my  arguments?"  said  William  sharply. 

"  Generally,  those  which  are  the  most  difficult  to  take  in," 
answered  his  tormentor  with  perfect  gravity. 

Ellen  tried  to  keep  from  smiling,  but  could  not ;  and  others  of 
the  party  did  not  try.  William  and  his  sister  were  enraged,  the 
more  because  John  had  said  nothing  they  could  take  hold  of,  or 
even  repeat.  Gilbert  made  common  cause  with  them. 

"  I  wish  I  was  grown  up  for  once,"  said  William. 

"  Will  you  fight  me,  sir?"  asked  Gilbert,  who  was  a  matter  of 
three  years  older,  and  well  grown  enough. 

His  question  received  no  answer,  and  was  repeated. 

"No,  sir." 

"Why  not,  sir?" 

"I  am  afraid  you'd  lay  me  up  with  a  sprained  ankle,"  said 
John,  "  and  I  should  not  get  back  to  Doncaster  as  quickly  as  I 
must." 

"  It  is  very  mean  of  him,"  said  Gilbert,  as  John  walked  away, — 
"  I  could  whip  him  I  know." 

"  Who's  that?"  said  Mr.  Howard  Marshman. 

"John  Humphreys." 

"  John  Humphreys !  You  had  better  not  meddle  with  him,  my 
dear  fellow.  It  would  be  no  particular  proof  of  wisdom." 

"Why,  he  is  no  such  great  affair,"  said  Gilbert;  "he's  tall 
enough  to  be  sure,  but  I  don't  believe  he  is  heavier  than  I 
am." 

"  You  don't  know,  in  the  first  place,  how  to  judge  of  the  size 
of  a  perfectly  well-made  man  ;  and  in  the  second  place  /was  not  a 
match  for  him  a  year 'ago ;  so  you  may  judge.  I  do  not  know 
precisely,"  he  went  on  to  the  lady  he  was  walking  with,  "  what  it 
takes  to  rouse  John  Humphreys,  but  when  he  is  roused  he  seems 
to  me  to  have  strength  enough  for  twice  his  bone  and  muscle.  I 
have  seen  him  do  curious  things  once  or  twice !" 

"  That  quiet  Mr.  Humphreys?" 

"Humph!"  said  Mr.  Howard, — "gunpowder  is  pretty  quiet 
stuff  so  long  as  it  keeps  cool." 

The  next  day  another  matter  happened  to  disturb  Ellen.  Mar 
garet  had  received  an  elegant  pair  of  ear-rings  as  a  Christmas 
present,  and  was  showing  them  for  the  admiration  of  her  young 
friends.  Ellen's  did  not  satisfy  her. 

"Ain't  they  splendid,"  said  she.  "Tell  the  truth  now,  Ellen 
Montgomery,  wouldn't  you  give  a  great  deal  if  somebody  would 
send  you  such  a  pair?" 

"They  are  very  pretty,"  said  Ellen,  "but  I  don't  think  I  care 
much  for  such  things, — I  would  rather  have  the  money." 

"  Oh,  you  avaricious! — Mr.  Marshman  !"  cried  Margaret,  as  the 
old  gentleman  was  just  then  passing  through  the  room, — "here's 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  319 

Ellen  Montgomery  says  she'd  rather  have  money  than  any  thing 
else  for  her  present." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her,  and  went  out  without  making  any 

reply. 

"Oh,  Margaret!"  said  Ellen,  shocked  and  distressed,— "  how 
could  you  1  how  could  you  !  What  will  Mr.  Marshman  think  ?" 

Margaret  answered  she  didn't  care  what  he  thought.  Ellen 
could  only  hope  he  had  not  heard. 

But  a  day  or  two  after,  when  neither  Ellen  nor  her  friends  were 
present,  Mr.  Marshman  asked  who  it  was  that  had  told  him  Ellen 
Montgomery  would  like  money  better  than  any  thing  else  for  her 
New  Year's  present. 

"  It  was  I,  sir,"  said  Margaret. 

"  It  sounds  very  unlike  her  to  say  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"Did  she  say  so?"   inquired  Mr.  Marshman. 

"I  understood  her  so,"  said  Margaret, — "I  understood  her  to 
say  she  wouldn't  care  for  any  thing  else." 

"  I  am  disappointed  in  her,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  I  wouldn't 
have  believed  it." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  quietly ;  "  there  has 
been  some  mistake." 

It  was  hard  for  Ellen  now  to  keep  to  what  she  thought  right. 
Disagreeable  feelings  would  rise  when  she  remembered  the  impo 
liteness,  the  half  sneer,  the  whole  taunt,  and  the  real  unkindness 
of  several  of  the  young  party.  She  found  herself  ready  to  be 
irritated,  inclined  to  dislike  the  sight  of  those,  even  wishing  to 
visit  some  sort  of  punishment  upon  them.  But  Christian  principle 
had  taken  strong  hold  in  little  Ellen's  heart ;  she  fought  her  evil 
tempers  manfully.  It  was  not  an  easy  battle  to  gain.  Ellen 
found  that  resentment  and  pride  had  roots  deep  enough  to  keep  her 
pulling  up  the  shoots  for  a  good  while.  She  used  to  get  alone  when 
she  could,  to  read  a  verse,  if  no  more,  of  her  Bible,  and  pray ;  she 
could  forgive  William  and  Margaret  more  easily  then.  Solitude 
and  darkness  saw  many  a  prayer  and  tear  of  hers  that  week.  As 
she  struggled  thus  to  get  rid  of  sin  and  to  be  more  like  what  would 
please  God,  she  grew  humble  and  happy.  Never  was  such  a  struggle 
carried  on  by  faith  in  him,  without  success.  And  after  a  time, 
though  a  twinge  of  the  old  feeling  might  come,  it  was  very  slight ; 
she  would  bid  William  and  Margaret  good-morning,  and  join  them 
in  any  enterprise  of  pleasure  or  business,  with  a  brow  as  unclouded 
as  the  sun.  They,  however,  were  too  conscious  of  having  behaved 
unbecomingly  toward  their  little  stranger  guest  to  be  over  fond  of 
her  company.  For  the  most  part  she  and  Ellen  Chauncey  were 
left  to  each  other. 

Meanwhile  the  famous  needlebook  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  fin 
ished.     Great  dismay  had  at  first  been  excited  in  the  breast  of  the 


320  THE    WIDE   WIDE    WORLD. 

intended  giver,  by  the  discovery  that  Gilbert  had  consulted  what 
seemed  to  be  a  very  extraordinary  fancy,  in  making  the  rose  a  yel 
low  one.  Ellen  did  her  best  to  comfort  her.  She  asked  Alice,  and 
found  there  were  such  things  as  yellow  roses,  and  they  were  very 
beautiful  too  ;  and  besides  it  would  match  so  nicely  the  yellow  but 
terfly  on  the  other  leaf. 

"  I  had  rather  it  wouldn't  match  !"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  and 
it  don't  match  the  rose-coloured  silk  besides.  Are  the  yellow  roses 
sweet?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  this  couldn't  have  been  a  sweet  rose 
at  any  rate,  you  know." 

"Oh,  but,"  said  the  other,  bursting  out  into  a  fresh  passion  of 
inconsolable  tears, — "  I  wanted  it  should  be  the  picture  of  a  sweet 
rose  ! — And  I  think  he  might  have  put  a  purple  butterfly — yellow 
butterflies  are  so  common  !  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  have  had  a 
purple  butterfly  and  a  red  rose  !" 

What  cannot  be  cured,  however,  must  be  endured.  The  tears 
were  dried,  in  course  of  time,  and  the  needlebook  with  its  yellow 
pictures  and  pink  edges  was  very  neatly  finished.  Ellen  had  been 
busy  too  on  her  own  account.  Alice  had  got  a  piece  of  fine  linen 
for  her  from  Miss  Sophia ;  the  collar  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  been 
cut  out,  and  Ellen  with  great  pleasure  had  made  it.  The  stitching, 
the  strings,  and  the  very  button-hole,  after  infinite  pains,  were  all 
finished  by  Thursday  night.  She  had  also  made  a  needlecase  for 
Alice,  not  of  so  much  pretension  as  the  other  one ;  this  was  green 
morocco  lined  with  crimson  satin ;  no  leaves,  but  ribbon  stitched 
in  to  hold  papers  of  needles,  and  a  place  for  a  bodkin.  Ellen 
worked  very  hard  at  this ;  it  was  made  with  the  extremest  care, 
and  made  beautifully.  Ellen  Chauncey  admired  it  very  much,  and 
anew  lamented  the  uncouth  variety  of  colours  in  her  own.  It  was 
a  grave  question  whether  pink  or  yellow  ribbon  should  be  used  for 
the  latter;  Ellen  Montgomery  recommended  pink,  she  herself  in 
clined  to  yellow ;  and  tired  of  doubting,  at  last  resolved  to  split  the 
difference  and  put  one  string  of  each  colour.  Ellen  thought  that 
did  not  mend  matters,  but  wisely  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself.  Be 
sides  the  needlecase  for  Alice,  she  had  snatched  the  time  whenever 
she  could  get  away  from  Ellen  Chauncey  to  work  at  something  for 
her.  She  had  begged  Alice's  advice  and  help  ;  and  between  them, 
out  of  Ellen's  scraps  of  morocco  and  silk,  they  had  manufactured 
a  little  bag  of  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  very  pretty  and 
tasteful  withal.  Ellen  thought  it  a  chef-d'o3uvre,  and  was  un 
bounded  in  her  admiration.  It  lay  folded  up  in  white  paper  in  a 
locked  drawer  ready  for  New  Year's  day.  In  addition  to  all  these 
pieces  of  business  John  had  begun  to  give  her  drawing  lessons, 
according  to  his  promise.  These  became  Ellen's  delight.  She 
would  willingly  have  spent  much  more  time  upon  them  than  he 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  321 

would  allow  her.  It  was  the  most  loved  employment  of  the  day. 
Her  teacher's  skill  was  not  greater  than  the  perfect  gentleness  and 
kindness  with  which  he  taught.  Ellen  thought  of  Mr.  Howard's 
speech  about  gunpowder, — she  could  not  understand  it. 

"  What  is  your  conclusion  on  the  whole?"  asked  John  one  day, 
as  he  stood  beside  her  mending  a  pencil. 

"Why,"  said  Ellen,  laughing  and  blushing, — "  how  could  you 
guess  what  I  was  thinking  about,  Mr.  John  ?' ' 

"  Not  very  difficult,  when  you  are  eying  me  so  hard." 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Ellen, — "I  don't  know  whether  it  is 
right  in  me  to  tell  it— because  somebody  said  you " 

"Well?" 

"  Were  like  gunpowder." 

"  Very  kind  of  somebody  !  And  so  you  have  been  in  doubt  of 
an  explosion?" 

«  No — I  don't  know — I  wondered  what  he  meant." 

"  Never  believe  what  you  hear  said  of  people,  Ellen  ;  judge  for 
yourself.  Look  here — that  house  has  suffered  from  a  severe  gale 
of  wind,  I  should  think — all  the  uprights  are  slanting  off  to  the 
right — can't  you  set  it  up  straight?" 

Ellen  laughed  at  the  tumble-down  condition  of  the  house  as  thus 
pointed  out  to  her,  and  set  about  reforming  it. 

It  was  Thursday  afternoon  that  Alice  and  Ellen  were  left  alone 
in  the  library,  several  of  the  family  having  been  called  out  to 
receive  some  visitors ;  Alice  had  excused  herself,  and  Ellen  as  soon 
as  they  were  gone  nestled  up  to  her  side. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  alone  together,  dear  Alice  ! — I  don't 
have  you  even  at  night  now." 

"It  is  very  pleasant,  dear  Ellie !  Home  will  not  look  disa 
greeable  again,  will  it?  even  after  all  our  gayety  here." 

"No  indeed! — at  least  your  home  won't — I  don't  know  what 
mine  will.  Oh,  me  !  I  had  almost  forgotten  aunt  Fortune  ! — " 

"Never  mind,  dear  Ellie  !     You  and  I  have  each  something  to 
bear — we  must  be  brave  and  bear  it  manfully.     There  is  a  friend     </ 
that   sticketh  closer  than  a  brother,   you   know.      We  shan't  be 
unhappy  if  we  do  our  duty  and  love  Him." 

"  How  soon  is  Mr.  John  going  away?" 

"  Not  for  all  next  week.  And  so  long  as  he  stays,  I  do  not 
mean  that  you  shall  leave  me." 

Ellen  cried  for  joy. 

"I  can  manage  it  with  Miss  Fortune  I  know,"  said  Alice. 
"These  fine  drawing  lessons  must  not  be  interrupted.  John  is 
very  much  pleased  with  your  performances." 

"Is  he?"  said  Ellen  delighted; — "I  have  taken  all  the  pains  I 
could." 

"  That  is  the  sure  way  to  success,  Ellie.     But,  Ellie,  I  want  to 


322  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

ask  you  about  something.  What  was  that  you  said  to  Margaret 
Dunscombe  about  wanting  money  for  a  New  Year's  present?" 

"You  know  it  then!"  cried  Ellen,  starting  up.  "Oh,  I'm  so 
glad!  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  it  so  I  didn't  know  what 
to  do,  and  I  thought  I  oughtn't  to.  What  shall  I  do  about  it, 
dear  Alice  ?  How  did  you  know  ?  George  said  you  were  not 
there." 

"Mrs.  Chauncey  told  me;  she  thought  there  had  been  some 
mistake,  or  something  wrong; — how  was  it,  Ellen?" 

"Why,"  said  Ellen,  "she  was  showing  us  her  ear-rings,  and 
asking  us  what  we  thought  of  them,  and  she  asked  me  if  I 
wouldn't  like  to  have  such  a  pair  ;  and  I  thought  I  would  a  great 
deal  rather  have  the  money  they  cost,  to  buy  other  things  with, 
you  know,  that  I  would  like  better ;  and  I  said  so  ;  and  just  then 
Mr.  Marshman  came  in,  and  she  called  out  to  him,  loud,  that  I 
wanted  money  for  a  present,  or  would  like  it  better  than  any  thing 
else,  or  something  like  that.  Oh,  Alice,  how  I  felt !  I  was 
frightened ; — but  then  I  hoped  Mr.  Marshman  did  not  hear  her, 
for  he  did  not  say  any  thing  ;  but  the  next  day  George  told  me  all 
about  what  she  had  been  saying  in  there,  and  oh,  it  made  me  so 
unhappy  !"  said  poor  Ellen,  looking  very  dismal.  "  What  will  Mr. 
Marshman  think  of  me  ?  he  will  think  I  expected  a  present,  and  I 
never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing  !  it  makes  me  ashamed  to  speak  of 
it  even;  and  I  cant  Lear  he  should  think  so — I  can't  bear  it ! 
What  shall  I  do,  dear  Alice?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  can  do,  dear  Ellie,  but  be  patient. 
Mr.  Marshman  will  not  think  anything  very  hard  of  you,  I  dare 
say." 

"  But  I  think  he  does  already;  he  hasn't  kissed  me  since  that 
as  he  did  before ;  I  know  he  does,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
How  could  Margaret  say  that !  oh,  how  could  she  !  it  was  very 
unkind. — What  can  I  do  ?"  said  Ellen  again,  after  a  pause,  and 
wiping  away  a  few  tears.  "  Couldn't  Mrs.  Chauncey  tell  Mr. 
Marshman  not  to  give  me  any  thing,  for  that  I  never  expected  it, 
and  would  a  great  deal  rather  not  ?" 

"  Why  no,  Ellie,  I  do  not  think  that  would  be  exactly  the  best 
or  most  dignified  way." 

"  What  then,  dear  Alice  ?     I'll  do  just  as  you  say." 

"  I  would  just  remain  quiet." 

"  But  Ellen  says  the  things  are  all  put  on  the  plates  in  the 
morning ;  and  if  there  should  be  money  on  mine — I  don't  know 
what  I  should  do,  I  should  feel  so  badly.  I  couldn't  keep  it,  Alice  ! 
—I  couldn't!" 

"  Very  well — you  need  not — but  remain  quiet  in  the  meanwhile  ; 
and  if  it  should  be  so,  then  say  what  you  please,  only  take  care 
that  you  say  it  in  the  right  spirit  and  in  a  right  manner.  Nobody 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  323 

can  hurt  you  much,  my  child,  while  you  keep  the  even  path  of 
duty  ;  poor  Margaret  is  her  own  worst  enemy." 

"  Then  if  there  should  be  money  in  the  morning,  I  may  tell  Mr. 
Marshman  the  truth  about  it  ?" 

"  Certainly — only  do  not  be  in  haste;  speak  gently." 

"Oh,  I  wish  every  body  would  be  kind  and  pleasant  always !" 
said  poor  Ellen,  but  half  comforted. 

"  What  a  sigh  was  there  !"  said  John,  coming  in.  "  What  is  the 
matter  with  my  little  sister?" 

"Some  of  the  minor  trials  of  life,  John,"  said  Alice  with  a 
smile. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ellie  ?" 

"  Oh,  something  you  can't  help,"  said  Ellen. 

"  And  something  I  mustn't  know.  Well,  to  change  the  scene, — 
suppose  you  go  with  me  to  visit  the  greenhouse  and  hothouses. 
Have  you  seen  them  yet?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  eagerly  sprang  forward  to  take  his 
hand; — "Ellen  promised  to  go  with  me,  but  we  have  been  so 
busy." 

"  Will  you  come,  Alice?" 

"Not  I,"  said  Alice, — "  I  wish  I  could,  but  I  shall  be  wanted 
elsewhere." 

"By  whom  I  wonder  so  much  as  by  me,"  said  her  brother. 
"  However,  after  to-morrow  I  will  have  you  all  to  myself." 

As  he  and  Ellen  were  crossing  the  hall  they  met  Mrs.  Marshman. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  John?"  said  she. 

"  Where  I  ought  to  have  been  before  ma'am, — to  pay  my  respects 
to  Mr.  Hutchinson." 

"You've  not  seen  him  yet!  that  is  very  ungrateful  of  you. 
Hutchinson  is  one  of  your  warmest  friends  and  admirers.  There 
are  few  people  he  mentions  with  so  much  respect,  or  that  he  is  so 
glad  to  see,  as  Mr.  John  Humphreys." 

"  A  distinction  I  owe,  I  fear,  principally  to  my  English  blood," 
said  John  shaking  his  head. 

"It  is  not  altogether  that,"  said  Mrs.  Marshman  laughing; 
"  though  I  do  believe  I  am  the  only  Yankee  good  Hutchinson  has 
ever  made  up  his  mind  entirely  to  like.  But  go  and  see  him,  do, 
he  will  be  very  much  pleased." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Hutchinson?"  said  Ellen  as  they  went  on. 

"  He  is  the  gardener,  or  rather  the  head  gardener.  He  came 
out  with  his  master  some  thirty  or  forty  years  ago,  but  his  old 
English  prejudice  will  go  to  the  grave  with  him,  I  believe." 

"  But  why  don't  he  like  the  Americans?" 

John  laughed.  "  It  would  never  do  for  me  to  attempt  to  answer 
that  question,  Ellie,  fond  of  going  to  the  bottom  of  things  as  you 
are.  We  should  just  get  to  hard  fighting  about  tea-time,  and  should 


324  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

barely  make  peace  by  mid-day  to-morrow  at  the  most  moderate 
calculation.  You  shall  have  an  answer  to  your  question  however." 

Ellen  could  not  conceive  what  he  meant,  but  resolved  to  wait 
for  his  promised  answer. 

As  they  entered  the  large  and  beautifully  kept  greenhouse 
Hutchinson  came  from  the  further  end  of  it  to  meet  them  ;  an  old 
man,  of  most  respectable  appearance.  He  bowed  very  civilly,  and 
then  slipped  his  pruning  knife  into  his  left  hand  to  leave  the  right 
at  liberty  for  John,  who  shook  it  cordially. 

"And  why  'aven't  you  been  to  see  me  before,  Mr.  John?  I 
'ave  thought  it  rather  'ard  of  you,  Miss  h' Alice  has  come  several 
times." 

"  The  ladies  have  more  leisure,  Mr.  Hutchinson.  You  look 
nourishing  here." 

"  Why  yes,  sir, — pretty  middling  within  doors  ;  but  I  don't  like 
the  climate,  Mr.  John,  I  don't  the  climate,  sir.  There's  no  country 
like  h' England,  I  believe,  for  my  business.  'Ere's  a  fine  rose,  sir, 
— if  you'll  step  a  bit  this  way — quite  a  new  kind — I  got  it  over  last 
h' autumn — the  Palmerston  it  is.  Those  are  fine  buds,  sir." 

The  old  man  was  evidently  much  pleased  to  see  his  visitor,  and 
presently  plunged  him  deep  into  English  politics,  for  which  he 
seemed  to  have  lost  no  interest  by  forty  years  life  in  America.  As 
Ellen  could  not  understand  what  they  were  talking  about,  she 
quitted  John's  side  and  went  wandering  about  by  herself.  From 
the  moment  the  sweet  aromatic  smell  of  the  plants  had  greeted  her 
she  had  been  in  a  high  state  of  delight ;  and  now  lost  to  all  the 
world  beside,  from  the  mystery  of  one  beautiful  and  strange  green 
thing  to  another,  she  went  wondering  and  admiring,  and  now  and 
then  timidly  advancing  her  nose  to  see  if  something  glorious  was 
something  sweet  too.  She  could  hardly  leave  a  superb  cactus,  in 
the  petals  of  which  there  was  such  a  singular  blending  of  scarlet 
and  crimson  as  almost  to  dazzle  her  sight ;  and  if  the  pleasure  of 
smell  could  intoxicate  she  would  have  reeled  away  from  a  luxuriant 
daphne  odorata  in  full  flower,  over  which  she  feasted  for  a  long 
time.  The  variety  of  green  leaves  alone  was  a  marvel  to  her ;  some 
rough  and  brown-streaked,  some  shining  as  if  they  were  varnished, 
others  of  hair-like  delicacy  of  structure, — all  lovely.  At  last  she 
stood  still  with  admiration  and  almost  held  her  breath  before  a  white 
camellia. 

"  What  does  that  flower  make  you  think  of,  Ellen?"  said  John 
coming  up ;  his  friend  the  gardener  had  left  him  to  seek  a  news 
paper  in  which  he  wished  to  show  him  a  paragraph. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  couldn't  think  of  any  thing 
but  itself." 

"  It  reminds  me  of  what  I  ought  to  be — and  of  what  I  shall  be 
if  I  ever  see  heaven ;  it  seems  to  me  the  emblem  of  a  sinless  pure 


"  Ellen  watched  him  as  the  bunch  grew  in  his  hand  " 

Page  325. 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  32ft 

spirit, — looking  up  in  fearless  spotlessness.  Do  you  remember 
what  was  said  to  the  old  Church  of  Sardis  ? — '  Thou  hast  a  few 
rames  that  have  not  defiled  their  garments ;  and  they  shall  walk 
with  me  in  white,  for  they  are  worthy.'  " 

The  tears  rushed  to  Ellen's  eyes,  she  felt  she  was  so  very  unlike 
this ;  but  Mr.  Hutchinson  coming  back  prevented  any  thing  more 
from  being  said.  She  looked  at  the  white  camellia ;  it  seemed  to 
speak  to  her. 

''That's  the  paragraph,  sir,"  said  the  old  gardener,  giving  the 
paper  to  John.  "'Ere's  a  little  lady  that  is  fond  of  flowers,  if  I 
don't  make  a  mistake  ;  this  is  somebody  I've  not  seen  before.  Is 
this  the  little  lady  little  Miss  h'Ellen  was  telling  me  about?" 

"  I  presume  so,"  said  John  ; — "  she  is  Miss  Ellen  Montgomery, 
a  sister  of  mine,  Mr.  Hutchinson,  and  Mr.  Marshman's  guest." 

"  By  both  names  h'entitled  to  my  greatest  respect,' '  said  the 
old  man,  stepping  back  and  making  a  very  low  bow  to  Ellen  with 
his  hand  upon  his  heart,  at  which  she  could  not  help  laughing. 
"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  Miss  h'Ellen  ;  what  can  I  do  to  make  her 
remember  old  'Utchinson  ?  Would  Miss  h'Ellen  like  a  bouquet?" 

Ellen  did  not  venture  to  say  yes,  but  her  blush  and  sparkling 
eyes  answered  him.  The  old  gardener  understood  her,  and  was  as 
good  as  his  word.  He  began  with  cutting  a  beautiful  sprig  of  a 
large  purple  geranium,  then  a  slip  of  lemon  myrtle.  Ellen  watched 
him  as  the  bunch  grew  in  his  hand,  and  could  hardly  believe  her 
eyes  as  one  beauty  after  another  was  added  to  what  became  a  most 
elegant  bouquet.  And  most  sweet  too ;  to  her  joy  the  delicious 
daphne  and  fragrant  lemon  blossom  went  to  make  part  of  it. 
Her  thanks,  when  it  was  given  her,  were  made  with  few  words 
but  with  all  her  face ;  the  old  gardener  smiled,  and  was  quite 
satisfied  that  his  gift  was  not  thrown  away.  He  afterwards  showed 
them  his  hothouses,  where  Ellen  was  astonished  and  very  much 
interested  to  see  ripe  oranges  and  lemons  in  abundance,  and  pines 
too,  such  as  she  had  been  eating  since  she  came  to  Ventnor,  think 
ing  nothing  less  than  that  they  grew  so  near  home.  The  grapes 
had  all  been  cut. 

There  was  to  be  quite  a  party  at  Ventnor  in  the  evening  of 
New  Year's  day.  Ellen  knew  this,  and  destined  her  precious 
flowers  for  Alice's  adornment.  How  to  keep  them  in  the  mean 
while?  She  consulted  Mr.  John,  and  according  to  his  advice 
took  them  to  Mrs.  Bland  the  housekeeper,  to  be  put  in  water  and 
kept  in  a  safe  place  for  her  till  the  time.  She  knew  Mrs.  Bland, 
for  Ellen  Chauncey  and  she  had  often  gone  to  her  room  to  work 
where  none  of  the  children  would  find  and  trouble  them.  Mrs. 
Bland  promised  to  take  famous  care  of  the  flowers,  and  said  she 
would  do  it  with  the  greatest  pleasure.  Mr.  Marshman's  guests, 
she  added  smiling, — must  have  every  thing  they  wanted. 

28 


326  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"What  does  that  mean,  Mrs.  Bland?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Miss  Ellen,  there's  a  deal  of  company  always 
coming,  and  some  is  Mrs.  Gillespie's  friends,  and  some  Mr.  Howard's, 
and  some  to  see  Miss  Sophia  more  particularly,  and  some  belong 
to  Mrs.  Marshman,  or  the  whole  family  maybe ;  but  now  and  then 
Mr.  Marshman  has  an  old  English  friend  or  so,  that  he  sets  the 
greatest  store  by ;  and  them  he  calls  his  guests ;  and  the  best  in 
the  house  is  hardly  good  enough  for  them,  or  the  country  either." 

"And  so  I  am  one  of  Mr.  Marshman' s  guests!"  said  Ellen,  "I 
didn't  know  what  it  meant." 

She  saved  out  one  little  piece  of  rose-geranium  from  her  flowers, 
for  the  gratification  of  her  own  nose ;  and  skipped  away  through 
the  hall  to  rejoin  her  companions,  very  light-hearted  indeed. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

This  life,  sae  far's  I  understand, 
Is  a'  enchanted  fairy-land, 
Where  pleasure  is  the  inagic  wand, 

That  wielded  right, 
Makes  hours  like  minutes,  hand  in  hand, 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 

BURNS. 

NEW  YEAR'S  morning  dawned. 

"  How  I  wish  breakfast  was  over!" — thought  Ellen  as  she  was 
dressing.  However,  there  is  no  way  of  getting  over  this  life  but 
by  going  through  it ;  so  when  the  bell  rang  she  went  down  as 
usual.  Mr.  Marshman  had  decreed  that  he  would  not  have  a  con 
fusion  of  gifts  at  the  breakfast  table  ;  other  people  might  make 
presents  in  their  own  way ;  they  must  not  interfere  with  his. 
Needlecases,  bags,  and  so  forth,  must  therefore  wait  another  op 
portunity  ;  and  Ellen  Chauncey  decided  it  would  just  make  the 
pleasure  so  much  longer,  and  was  a  great  improvement  on  the  old 
plan.  "  Happy  New  Years"  and  pleasant  greetings  were  exchanged 
as  the  party  gathered  in  the  breakfast  room ;  pleasure  sat  on  all 
faces,  except  Ellen's,  and  many  a  one  wore  a  broad  smile  as  they 
sat  down  to  table.  For  the  napkins  were  in  singular  disarrange 
ment  this  morning;  instead  of  being  neatly  folded  up  on  the 
plates,  in  their  usual  fashion,  they  were  in  all  sorts  of  disorder, — 
sticking  up  in  curious  angles,  some  high,  some  low,  some  half 
folded,  some  quite  unfolded,  according  to  the  size  and  shape  of 
that  which  they  covered,  It  was  worth  while  to  see  that  long 
tableful,  and  the  faces  of  the  company,  before  yet  a  napkin  was 
touched.  An  anxious  glance  at  her  own  showed  Ellen  that  it  lay 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  327 

quite  flat ;  Alice's,  which  was  next,  had  an  odd  little  rising  in  the 
middle,  as  if  there  were  a  small  dumpling  under  it.  Ellen  was  in 
an  agony  for  this  pause  to  come  to  an  end.  It  was  broken  by  some 
of  the  older  persons,  and  then  in  a  trice  every  plate  was  uncovered. 
And  then  what  a  buzz  ! — pleasure  and  thanks  and  admiration,  and 
even  laughter.  Ellen  dreaded  at  first  to  look  at  her  plate  ;  she  be 
thought  her,  however,  that  if  she  waited  long  she  would  have  to  do 
it  with  all  eyes  upon  her;  she  lifted  the  napkin  slowly — yes— just 
as  she  feared — there  lay  a  clean  bank-note — of  what  value  she 
could  not  see,  for  confusion  covered  her ;  the  blood  rushed  to  her 
cheeks  and  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  She  could  not  have  spoken,  and 
happily  it  was  no  time  then  ;  every  body  else  was  speaking ;  she 
could  not  have  been  heard.  She  had  time  to  cool  and  recollect 
herself;  but  she  sat  with  her  eyes  cast  down,  fastened  upon  her 
plate  and  the  unfortunate  bank-bill,  which  she  detested  with  all 
her  heart.  She  did  not  know  what  Alice  had  received ;  she  under 
stood  nothing  that  was  going  on,  till  Alice  touched  her  and  said 
gently,  "  Mr.  Marshman  is  speaking  to  you,  Ellen." 

"  Sir!"  said  Ellen,  starting. 

"  You  need  not  look  so  terrified,"  said  Mr.  Marshman,  smiling; 
— "I  only  asked  you  if  your  bill  was  a  counterfeit — something 
seems  to  be  wrong  about  it." 

Ellen  looked  at  her  plate  and  hesitated.     Her  lip  trembled. 

"  What  is  it?"  continued  the  old  gentleman.  "  Is  any  thing  the 
matter." 

Ellen  desperately  took  up  the  bill,  and  with  burning  cheeks 
marched  to  his  end  of  the  table. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  but  I  had  a  great  deal 
rather  not ; — if  you  please — if  you  will  please  to  be  so  good  as  to 
let  me  give  it  back  to  you — I  should  be  very  glad." — 

"  Why  hoity  toity  !"  said  the  old  gentleman, — "  what's  all  this  ? 
what's  the  matter?  don't  you  like  it?  I  thought  I  was  doing  the 
very  thing  that  would  please  you  best  of  all." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  think  so,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  who  had 
recovered  a  little  breath,  but  had  the  greatest  difficulty  to  keep 
back  her  tears ; — "  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  your  giving 
me  any  thing,  sir,  till  somebody  spoke  of  it,  and  I  had  rather  never 
have  any  thing  in  the  world  than  that  you  should  think  what  you 
thought  about  me." 

"  What  did  I  think  about  you?" 

"  George  told  me  that  somebody  told  you,  sir,  I  wanted  money 
for  my  present." 

"  And  didn't  you  say  so  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  didn't,  sir !"  said  Ellen  with  a  sudden  fire.  "  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing  !" 

"  What  did  you  say  then  ?" 


328  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Margaret  was  showing  us  her  ear-rings,  and  she  asked  me  if  1 
wouldn't  like  to  have  some  like  them  ;  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
I  would  a  great  deal  rather  have  the  money  they  would  cost  to  buy 
something  for  Alice  ;  and  just  when  I  said  so  you  came  in,  sir,  and 
she  said  what  she  did.  I  was  very  much  ashamed.  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  you,  sir,  at  all,  nor  of  New  Year." 

"  Then  you  would  like  something  else  better  than  money." 

"  No,  sir,  nothing  at  all  if  you  please.  If  you'll  only  be  so  good 
as  not  to  give  me  this  I  will  be  very  much  obliged  to  you  indeed  ; 
and  please  not  to  think  I  could  be  so  shameful  as  you  thought  I 
was." 

Ellen's  face  was  not  to  be  withstood.  The  old  gentleman  took 
the  bill  from  her  hand. 

"I  will  never  think  any  thing  of  you."  said  he,  "but  what  is 
the  very  tip-top  of  honourable  propriety.  But  you  make  me 
ashamed  now — what  am  I  going  to  do  with  this  ?  Here  have  you 
come  and  made  me  a  present,  and  I  feel  very  awkward  indeed." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  it,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  laughing, 
though  in  imminent  danger  of  bursting  into  tears; — "I  am  very 
glad  it  is  out  of  my  hands. ' ' 

"  But  you  needn't  think  I  am  going  to  let  you  off  so,"  said  he ; 
"  you  must  give  me  half-a-dozen  kisses  at  least  to  prove  that  you 
have  forgiven  me  for  making  so  great  a  blunder." 

"  Half-a-dozen  is  too  many  at  once,"  said  Ellen,  gayly  ;  "  three 
now  and  three  to-night." 

So  she  gave  the  old  gentleman  three  kisses,  but  he  caught  her  in 
his  arms  and  gave  her  a  dozen  at  least ;  after  which  he  found  out  that 
the  waiter  was  holding  a  cup  of  coffee  at  his  elbow,  and  Ellen 
went  back  to  her  place  with  a  very  good  appetite  for  her  break 
fast. 

After  breakfast  the  needlecases  were  delivered.  Both  gave  the 
most  entire  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Chauncey  assured  her  daughter  that 
she  would  quite  as  lief  have  a  yellow  as  a  red  rose  on  the  cover, 
and  that  she  liked  the  inscription  extremely ;  which  the  little  girl 
acknowledged  to  have  been  a  joint  device  of  her  own  and  Ellen's. 
Ellen's  bag  gave  great  delight,  and  was  paraded  all  over  the  house. 

After  the  bustle  of  thanks  and  rejoicing  was  at  last  over,  and 
when  she  had  a  minute  to  herself,  which  Ellen  Chauncey  did  not 
give  her  for  a  good  while,  Ellen  bethought  her  of  her  flowers, — a 
sweet  gift  still  to  be  made.  Why  not  make  it  now  ?  why  should 
not  Alice  have  the  pleasure  of  them  all  day  ?  A  bright  thought ! 
Ellen  ran  forthwith  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  after  a  long 
admiring  look  at  her  treasures,  carried  them  glass  and  all  to  the 
library,  where  Alice  and  John  often  were  in  the  morning  alone. 
Alice  thanked  her  in  the  way  she  liked  best,  and  then  the  flowers 
were  smelled  and  admired  afresh. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  329 

"  Nothing  could  have  been  pleasanter  to  me,  Ellie,  except  Mr. 
Marshman's  gift." 

"  And  what  was  that,  Alice  ?     I  haven  t  seen  it  yet." 

Alice  pulled  out  of  her  pocket  a  small  round  morocco  case,  the 
very  thing  that  Ellen  had  thought  looked  like  a  dumpling  under 
the  napkin,  and  opened  it. 

"It's  Mr.  John!"  exclaimed  Ellen.  "Oh,  how  beautiful!" 
Neither  of  her  hearers  could  help  laughing. 

"It  is  very  fine,  Ellie,"  said  Alice;  "you  are  quite  right. 
Now  I  know  what  was  the  business  that  took  John  to  Randolph 
every  day,  and  kept  him  there  so  long,  while  I  was  wondering  at 
him  unspeakably.  Kind,  kind  Mr.  Marshman." 

"  Did  Mr.  John  get  any  thing  ?" 

"  Ask  him,  Ellie." 

"Did  you  get  any  thing,  Mr.  John?"  said  Ellen,  going  up  to 
him  where  he  was  reading  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  got  this,"  said  John,  handing  her  a  little  book  which  lay 
beside  him. 

"What  is  this?  Wime's — Wiem's — Life  of  Washington- 
Washington?  he  was — May  I  look  at  it?" 

"Certainly!" 

She  opened  the  book,  and  presently  sat  down  on  the  floor  where 
she  was  by  the  side  of  the  sofa.  Whatever  she  had  found  within 
the  leaves  of  the  book,  she  had  certainly  lost  herself.  An  hour 
passed.  Ellen  had  not  spoken  or  moved  except  to  turn  over 
leaves. 

"Ellen!"  said  John. 

She  looked  up,  her  cheeks  coloured  high. 

"  What  have  you  found  there?"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  Oh,  a  great  deal !  But — did  Mr.  Marshman  give  you  this?" 

"No." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Ellen,  looking  puzzled,—"  I  thought  you  said  you 
got  this  this  morning." 

"  No,  I  got  it  last  night.     I  got  it  for  you,  Ellie." 

"  For  me  !"  said  Ellen,  her  colour  deepening  very  much, — "  for 
me !  did  you  ?  Oh,  thank  you  ! — oh,  I'm  so  much  obliged  to  you, 
Mr.  John." 

"  It  is  only  an  answer  to  one  of  your  questions." 

"This  !  is  it? — I  don't  know  what,  I  am  sure.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
could  do  something  to  please  you,  Mr.  John !" 

"  You  shall,  Ellie  ;.  you  shall  give  me  a  brother's  right  again." 

Blushingly  Ellen  approached  her  lips  to  receive  one  of  his  grave 
kisses ;  and  then,  not  at  -all  displeased,  went  down  on  the  floor  and 
was  lost  in  her  book. 

Oh,  the  long  joy  of  that  New  Year's  day !— how  shall  it  be 
told  ?  The  pleasure  of  that  delightful  book,  in  which  she  was 

28* 


330  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


wrapped  the  whole  day  ;  even  when  called  off,  as  she  often  was, 
by  Ellen  Chauncey  to  help  her  in  fifty  little  matters  of  business  or 
pleasure.  These  were  attended  to,  and  faithfully  and  cheerfully, 
but  the  book  was  in  her  head  all  the  while.  And  this  pleasure 
was  mixed  with  Alice's  pleasure,  the  flowers  and  the  miniature, 
and  Mr.  Marshman's  restored  kindness.  She  never  met  John's 
or  Alice's  eye  that  day  without  a  smile.  Even  when  she  went 
to  be  dressed  her  book  went  with  her,  and  was  laid  on  the  bed 
within  sight,  ready  to  be  taken  up  the  moment  she  was  at  liberty. 
Ellen  Chauncey  lent  her  a  white  frock  which  was  found  to  answer 
very  well  with  a  tuck  let  out;  and  Alice  herself  dressed  her. 
While  this  was  doing,  Margaret  Dunscombe  put  her  head  in  at 
the  door  to  ask  Anne,  Miss  Sophia's  maid,  if  she  was  almost  ready 
to  come  and  curl  her  hair. 

"Indeed  I  can't  say  that  I  am,  Miss  Margaret,"  said  Anne. 
"I've  something  to  do  for  Miss  Humphreys,  and  Miss  Sophia 
hasn't  so  much  as  done  the  first  thing  toward  beginning  to  get 
ready  yet.  It'll  be  a  good  hour  and  more.' ' 

Margaret  went  away  exclaiming  impatiently  that  she  could  get 
nobody  to  help  her,  and  would  have  to  wait  till  every  body  was 
down  stairs. 

A  few  minutes  after  she  heard  Ellen's  voice  at  the  door  of  her 
room  asking  if  she  might  come  in. 

"  Yes — who's  that  ? — what  do  you  want?" 

^  I'll  fix  your  hair  if  you'll  let  me,"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  ?     I  don't  believe  you  can." 

"  Oh,  yes  I  can;  I  used  to  do  mamma's  very  often;  I  am  not 
afraid  if  you'll  trust  me." 

"  Well,  thank  you,  I  don't  care  if  you  try  then,"  said  Margaret, 
seating  herself, — "it  won't  do  any  harm  at  any  rate;  and  I  want 
to  be  down  stairs  before  anybody  gets  here;  I  think  it's  half  the 
fun  to  see  them  come  in.  Bless  me  !  you're  dressed  and  all  ready." 

Margaret's  hair  was  in  long  thick  curls;  it  was  not  a  trifling 
matter  to  dress  them.  Ellen  plodded  through  it  patiently  and 
faithfully,  taking  great  pains,  and  doing  the  work  well ;  and  then 
went  back  to  Alice.  Margaret's  thanks,  not  very  gracefully  given, 
would  have  been  a  poor  reward  for  the  loss  of  three-quarters  of  an 
hour  of  pleasure.  But  Ellen  was  very  happy  in  having  done  right. 
It  was  no  longer  time  to  read ;  they  must  go  down  stairs. 

The  New  Year's  party  was  a  nondescript, — young  and  old 
together;  a  goodly  number  of  both  were  gathered  from  Randolph 
and  the  neighbouring  country.  There  were  games  for  the  young, 
dancing  for  the  gay,  and  a  superb  supper  for  all ;  and  the  big 
bright  rooms  were  full  of  bright  faces.  It  was  a  very  tappy  even 
ing  to  Ellen.  For  a  good  part  of  it  Mr.  Marshman  took  possession 
of  her,  or  kept  her  near  him ;  and  his  extreme  kindness  would 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  331 

alone  have  made  the  evening  pass  pleasantly ;  she  was  sure  he  was 
her  firm  friend  again. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Mrs.  Chauncey  found  occasion  to 
ask  her  about  her  journey  up  the  river,  without  at  all  mentioning 
Margaret  or  what  she  had  said.  Ellen  answered  that  she  had  come 
with  Mrs.  Dunscombe  and  her  daughter. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time?"  asked  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"Why,  no,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen, — "I  don't  know— it  was  partly 
pleasant  and  partly  unpleasant." 

"  What  made  it  so,  love?" 

"  I  had  left  mamma  that  morning,  and  that  made  me  unhappy." 

"But  you  said  it  was  partly  pleasant?" 

"  Oh,  that  was  because  I  had  such  a  good  friend  on  board," said 
Ellen,  her  face  lighting  up  as  his  image  came  before  her. 

"Who  was  that?" 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,  who  he  was." 

"  A  stranger  to  you  ?' ' 

"  Yes,  ma'am — I  never  saw  him  before — I  wish  I  could  see  him 
again." 

"  Where  did  you  find  him  ?" 

"  I  didn't  find  him — he  found  me,  when  I  was  sitting  up  on  the 
highest  part  of  the  boat." 

"  And  your  friends  with  you  ?" 

"What  friends?" 

"  Mrs.  Dunscombe  and  her  daughter." 

"No,  ma'am — they  were  down  in  the  cabin." 

"  And  what  business  had  you  to  be  wandering  about  the  boat 
alone?"  said  Mr.  Marshman,  good-humouredly. 

"They  were  strangers,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  colouring  a  little. 

"Well,  so  was  this  man — your  friend — a  stranger  too,  wasn't 
he?" 

"Oh,  he  was  a  very  different  stranger,"  said  Ellen,  smiling, — 
"and  he  wasn't  a  stranger  long,  besides." 

"  Well,  you  must  tell  me  more  about  him, — come,  I'm  curious  ; 
— what  sort  of  a  strange  friend  was  this?" 

"He  wasn't  a  strange  friend,"  said  Ellen,  laughing; — "he  was 
a  very,  very  good  friend ;  he  took  care  of  me  the  whole  day  ;  he 
was  very  good  and  very  kind." 

"What  kind  of  a  man?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey; — "a  gentle 
man?" 

"Oh,  yes,  ma'am!"  said  Ellen,  looking  surprised  at  the  ques 
tion.  "I  am  sure  he  was." 

"What  did  he  look  like?" 

Ellen  tried  to  tell,  but  the  portrait  was  not  very  distinct. 

"  What  did  he  wear?     Coat  or  cloak  ?" 

«  Coat— dark  brown,  I  think." 


332  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"This  was  in  the  end  of  October,  wasn't  it?" 

Ellen  thought  a  moment  and  answered  "yes." 

"  And  you  don't  know  his  name?" 

"No,  ma'am  ;  I  wish  I  did." 

"  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  *••  iling  ; — "  he  is  one  of 
my  best  friends  too,  Ellen ;  it  is  my  brother,  Mr.  George  Marsh- 
man." 

How  Ellen's  face  crimsoned  1  Mr.  Marshman  asked  how  she 
knew. 

"  It  was  then  he  came  up  the  river,  you  know,  sir ;  and  don't 
you  remember  his  speaking  of  a  little  girl  on  board  the  boat  who 
was  travelling  with  strangers,  and  whom  he  endeavoured  to  befriend  ? 
I  had  forgotten  it  entirely  till  a  minute  or  two  ago." 

"  Miss  Margaret  Dunscombe  !"  cried  George  Walsh,  "  what  kind 
of  a  person  was  that  you  said  Ellen  was  so  fond  of  when  you  came 
up  the  river?" 

"  I  don't  know,  nor  care,"  said  Margaret.  "  Somebody  she 
picked  up  somewhere." 

"  It  was  Mr.  George  Marshman  !" 

"  It  wasn't." 

"  Uncle  George !"  exclaimed  Ellen  Chauncey,  running  up  to 
the  group  her  cousin  had  quitted  ; — "  My  uncle  George  ?  Do  you 
know  uncle  George,  Ellen?" 

"  Very  much — I  mean — yes,"  said  Ellen. 

Ellen  Chauncey  was  delighted.  So  was  Ellen  Montgomery.  It 
seemed  to  bring  the  whole  family  nearer  to  her,  and  they  felt  it  too. 
Mrs.  Marshman  kissed  her  when  she  heard  it,  and  said  she  remem 
bered  very  well  her  son's  speaking  of  her,  and  was  very  glad  to 
find  who  it  was.  And  now,  Ellen  thought,  she  would  surely  sec 
him  again  some  time. 

The  next  day  they  left  Ventnor.  Ellen  Chauncey  was  very  sorry 
to  lose  her  new  friend,  and  begged  she  would  come  again  "  as  soon 
as  she  could."  All  the  family  said  the  same.  Mr.  Marshman  told 
her  she  must  give  him  a  large  place  in  her  heart,  or  he  should  be 
jealous  of  her  "  strange  friend  ;"  and  Alice  was  charged  to  bring 
her  whenever  she  came  to  see  them. 

The  drive  back  to  Carra-carra  was  scarcely  less  pleasant  than  the 
drive  out  had  been  ;  and  home,  Ellen  said,  looked  lovely.  That  is, 
Alice's  home,  which  she  began  to  think  more  her  own  than  any 
other.  The  pleasure  of  the  past  ten  days,  though  great,  had  not 
been  unmixed;  the  week  that  followed  was  one  of  perfect  enjoy 
ment.  In  Mr.  Humphreys'  household  there  was  an  atmosphere  of 
peace  and  purity  that  even  a  child  could  feel,  and  in  which  such  a 
child  as  Ellen  throve  exceedingly.  The  drawing  lessons  went  on 
with  great  success ;  other  lessons  were  begun  ;  there  were  fine  long 
walks,  and  charming  sleigh-rides,  and  more  than  one  visit  to  Mrs. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  333 

Vawse  ;  and  what  Ellen  perhaps  liked  the  best  of  all,  the  long 
evenings  of  conversation  and  reading  aloud,  and  bright  fire-lights, 
and  brighter  sympathy  and  intelligence  and  affection.  That  week 
did  them  all  good,  and  no  one  more  than  Ellen. 

It  was  a  little  hard  to  go  back  to  Miss  Fortune's  and  begin  her 
old  life  there.  She  went  on  the  evening  of  the  day  John  had 
departed.  They  were  at  supper. 

"Well!"  said  Miss  Fortune,  as  Ellen  entered, — "have  you  got 
enough  of  visiting  ?  I  should  be  ashamed  to  go  where  I  wasn't 
wanted,  for  rny  part." 

"I  haven't,  aunt  Fortune,"  said  Ellen. 

"  She's  been  nowhere  but  what's  done  her  good,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Brunt;  "she's  reely  growed  handsome  since  she's  been  away." 

"  Grown  a  fiddlestick  !"  said  Miss  Fortune. 

"She  couldn't  grow  handsomer  than  she  was  before,'  said  the 
old  grandmother,  hugging  and  kissing  her  little  grand-daughter 
with  great  delight  j — "  the  sweetest  posie  in  the  garden  she  always 
was!" 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  as  if  he  entirely  agreed  with  the  old  lady. 
That,  while  it  made  some  amends  for  Miss  Fortune's  dryness,  per 
haps  increased  it.  She  remarked,  that  "she  thanked  Heaven  she 
could  always  make  herself  contented  at  home  ;"  which  Ellen  could 
not  help  thinking  was  a  happiness  for  the  rest  of  the  world. 

In  the  matter  of  the  collar,  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  the  giver 
or  receiver  had  the  most  satisfaction.  Ellen  had  begged  him  not 
to  speak  of  it  to  her  aunt ;  and  accordingly  one  Sunday  when  he 
came  there  with  it  on,  both  he  and  she  were  in  a  state  of  exquisite 
delight.  Miss  Fortune's  attention  was  at  last  aroused  ;  she  made  a 
particular  review  of  him,  and  ended  it  by  declaring  that  "  he  looked 
uncommonly  dandified,  but  she  could  not  make  out  what  he  had 
done  to  himself;"  a  remark  which  transported  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and 
Ellen  beyond  all  bounds  of  prudence. 

Nancy's  Bible,  which  had  been  purchased  for  her  at  Randolph, 
was  given  to  her  the  first  opportunity.  Ellen  anxiously  watched 
her  as  she  slowly  turned  it  over,  her  face  showing,  however,  very 
decided  approbation  of  the  style  of  the  gift.  She  shook  her  head 
once  or  twice,  and  then  said, 

"  What  did  you  give  this  to  me  for,  Ellen?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  give  you  something  for  New  Year,"  said 
Ellen, — "  and  I  thought  that  would  be  the  best  thing, — if  you 
would  only  read  it, — it  would  make  you  so  happy  and  good." 

"  You  are  good,  I  believe,"  said  Nancy,  "but  I  don't  expect 
ever  to  be  myself — I  don't  think  I  could  be.  You  might  as  well 
teach  a  snake  not  to  wriggle." 

"  I  am  not  good  at  all,"  said  Ellen, — "  we're  none  of  us  good," 
— and  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes, — "but  the  Bible  will  teach  us 


334  THE  WIDE,    WIDE  WORLD. 

how  to  be.  If  you'll  only  read  it ! — please  Nancy,  do !  say  you 
will  read  a  little  every  day." 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  make  a  promise  I  shouldn't  keep,  I 
guess,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  keep  that,  so  I  won't  promise  it ;  but  I  tell 
you  what  I  will  do, — I'll  take  precious  fine  care  of  it,  and  keep  it 
always  for  your  sake." 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen  sighing, — "  I  am  glad  you  will  even  do  so 
much  as  that.  But  Nancy — before  you  begin  to  read  the  Bible 
you  may  have  to  go  where  you  never  can  read  it,  nor  be  happy 
nor  good  neither." 

Nancy  made  no  answer,  but  walked  away,  Ellen  thought,  rather 
more  soberly  than  usual. 

This  conversation  had  cost  Ellen  some  effort.  It  had  not  been 
made  without  a  good  deal  of  thought  and  some  prayer.  She  could 
not  hope  she  had  done  much  good,  but  she  had  done  her  duty. 
And  it  happened  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  standing  behind  the  angle 
of  the  wall,  had  heard  every  word. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

If  erst  he  wished,  now  he  longed  sore. 

FAIRFAX. 

ELLEN'S  life  had  nothing  to  mark  it  for  many  months.  The 
rest  of  the  winter  passed  quietly  away,  every  day  being  full  of 
employment.  At  home  the  state  of  matters  was  rather  bettered. 
Either  Miss  Fortune  was  softened  by  Ellen's  gentle  inoffensive 
ways  and  obedient  usefulness,  or  she  had  resolved  to  bear  what 
could  not  be  helped,  and  make  the  best  of  the  little  inmate  she 
could  not  get  rid  of.  She  was  certainly  resolved  to  make  the  most 
of  her.  Ellen  was  kept  on  the  jump  a  great  deal  of  the  time ; 
she  was  runner  of  errands  and  maid  of  all  work ;  to  set  the  table 
and  clear  it  was  only  a  trifle  in  the  list  of  her  every-day  duties ; 
and  they  were  not  ended  till  the  last  supper  dish  was  put  away  and 
the  hearth  swept  up.  Miss  Fortune  never  spared  herself  and  never 
spared  Ellen,  so  long  as  she  had  any  occasion  for  her. 

There  were  however  long  pieces  of  time  that  were  left  free; 
these  Ellen  seized  for  her  studies  and  used  most  diligently. 
Urged  on  by  a  three  or  four-fold  motive.  For  the  love  of  them, 
and  for  her  own  sake, — that  John  might  think  she  had  done  well, 
— that  she  might  presently  please  and  satisfy  Alice, — above  all, 


THE  WIDE,    WIDE  WORLD.  335 

that  her  mother's  wishes  might  be  answered.  This  thought, 
whenever  it  came,  was  a  spur  to  her  efforts ;  so  was  each  of  the 
others;  and  Christian  feeHng  added  another  and  kept  all  the  rest 
in  force.  Without  this,  indolence  might  have  weakened,  or  temp 
tation  surprised  her  resolution ;  little  Ellen  was  open  to  both ;  but 
if  ever  she  found  herself  growing  careless,  from  either  cause, 
conscience  was  sure  to  smite  her  ;  and  then  would  rush  in  all  the 
motives  that  called  upon  her  to  persevere.  Soon  faithfulness 
began  to  bring  its  reward.  With  delight  she  found  herself  getting 
the  better  of  difficulties,  beginning  to  see  a  little  through  the  mists 
of  ignorance,  making  some  sensible  progress  on  the  long  road  of 
learning.  Study  grew  delightful;  her  lessons  with  Alice  one  of 
her  greatest  enjoyments.  And  as  they  were  a  labour  of  love  to 
both  teacher  and  scholar,  and  as  it  was  the  aim  of  each  to  see 
quite  to  the  bottom  of  every  matter,  where  it  was  possible,  and  to 
leave  no  difficulties  behind  them  on  the  road  which  they  had  not 
cleared  away,  no  wonder  Ellen  went  forward  steadily  and  rapidly. 
Reading  also  became  a  wonderful  pleasure.  Wiems'  Life  of 
Washington  was  read,  and  read,  and  read  over  again,  till  she  almost 
knew  it  by  heart ;  and  from  that  she  went  to  Alice's  library,  and 
ransacked  it  for  what  would  suit  her.  Happily  it  was  a  well-picked 
one,  and  Ellen  could  not  light  upon  many  books  that  would  do  her 
mischief.  For  those,  Alice's  wish  was  enough ; — she  never  opened 
them.  Furthermore  Alice  insisted  that  when  Ellen  had  once 
fairly  begun  a  book  she  should  go  through  with  it ;  not  capriciously 
leave  it  for  another,  nor  have  half  a  dozen  about  at  a  time.  But 
when  Ellen  had  read  it  once  she  commonly  wanted  to  go  over  it 
again,  and  seldom  laid  it  aside  until  she  had  sucked  the  sweetness 
all  out  of  it. 

As  for  drawing,  it  could  not  go  on  very  fast  while  the  cold 
weather  lasted.  Ellen  had  no  place  at  home  where  she  could 
spread  out  her  paper  and  copies  without  danger  of  being  disturbed. 
Her  only  chance  was  at  the  parsonage.  John  had  put  all  her 
pencils  in  order  before  he  went,  and  had  left  her  an  abundance  of 
copies,  marked  as  she  was  to  take  them.  They,  or  some  of  them, 
were  bestowed  in  Alice's  desk ;  and  whenever  Ellen  had  a  spare 
hour  or  two,  of  a  fine  morning  or  afternoon,  she  made  the  best  of 
her  way  to  the  mountain;  it  made  no  difference  whether  Alice 
were  at  home  or  not ;  she  went  in,  coaxed  up  the  fire,  and  began 
her  work.  It  happened  many  a  time  that  Alice,  coming  home 
from  a  walk  or  a  run  in  the  woods,  saw  the  little  hood  and  cloak 
on  the  settee  before  she  opened  the  glass  door,  and  knew  very 
well  how  she  should  find  Ellen,  bending  intently  over  her  desk. 
These  runs  to  the  mountain  were  very  frequent;  sometimes  to 
draw,  sometimes  to  recite,  always  to  see  Alice  and  be  happy.  Ellen 
grew  rosy  and  hardy,  and  in  spite  of  her  separation  from  her 


336  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD, 

mother,  she  was  very  happy  too.  Her  extreme  and  varied  occupa 
tion  made  this  possible.  She  had  no  time  to  indulge  useless  sor 
row  ;  on  the  contrary,  her  thoughts  were  taken  up  with  agreeable 
matters,  either  doing  or  to  be  done ;  and  at  night  she  was  far  too 
tired  and  sleepy  to  lie  awake  musing.  And  besides,  she  hoped 
that  her  mother  would  come  back  in  the  spring,  or  the  summer  at 
farthest.  It  is  true  Ellen  had  no  liking  for  the  kind  of  business 
her  aunt  gave  her;  it  was  oftentimes  a  trial  of  temper  and 
patience.  Miss  Fortune  was  not  the  pleasantest  work-mistress  in 
the  world,  and  Ellen  was  apt  to  wish  to  be  doing  something  else ; 
but  after  all  this  was  not  amiss.  Besides  the  discipline  of  char 
acter,  these  trials  made  the  pleasant  things  with  which  they  were 
mixed  up  seem  doubly  pleasant ;  the  disagreeable  parts  of  her  life 
relished  the  agreeable  wonderfully.  After  spending  the  whole 
morning  with  Miss  Fortune  in  the  depths  of  housework,  how  de 
lightful  it  was  to  forget  all  in  drawing  some  nice  little  cottage 
with  a  bit  of  stone  wall  and  a  barrel  in  front ;  or  to  go  with  Alice, 
in  thought,  to  the  south  of  France,  and  learn  how  the  peasants 
manage  their  vines  and  make  the  wine  from  them  ;  or  run  over  the 
Rock  of  Gibraltar  with  the  monkeys  ;  or  at  another  time,  seated 
on  a  little  bench  in  the  chimney  corner,  when  the  fire  blazed  up 
well,  before  the  candles  were  lighted,  to  forget  the  kitchen  and  the 
supper  and  her  bustling  aunt,  and  sail  round  the  world  with 
Captain  Cook.  Yes — these  things  were  all  the  sweeter  for  being 
tasted  by  snatches. 

Spring  brought  new  occupation ;  household  labours  began  to 
increase  in  number  and  measure  ;  her  leisure  times  were  shortened. 
But  pleasures  were  increased  too.  When  the  snow  went  off,  and 
spring-like  days  began  to  come,  and  birds'  notes  were  heard  again, 
and  the  trees  put  out  their  young  leaves,  and  the  brown  mountains 
were  looking  soft  and  green.  Ellen's  heart  bounded  at  the  sight. 
The  springing  grass  was  lovely  to  see ;  dandelions  were  marvels  of 
beauty ;  to  her  each  wild  wood-flower  was  a  never  to  be  enough 
admired  and  loved  wonder.  She  used  to  take  long  rambles  with 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  when  business  led  him  to  the  woods,  sometimes 
riding  part  of  the  way  on  the  ox-sled.  Always  a  basket  for 
flowers  went  along ;  and  when  the  sled  stopped,  she  would  wander 
all  around  seeking  among  the  piled-up  dead  leaves  for  the  white 
wind-flower,  and  pretty  little  hang-head  Uvularia,  and  delicate 
blood  root,  and  the  wild  geranium  and  columbine ;  and  many 
others  the  names  of  which  she  did  not  know.  They  were  like 
friends  to  Ellen  ;  she  gathered  them  affectionately  as  well  as  ad 
miringly  into  her  little  basket,  and  seemed  to  purify  herself  in 
their  pure  companionship.  Even  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  to  have  an 
indistinct  notion  that  Ellen  and  flowers  were  made  to  be  together. 
After  he  found  what  a  pleasure  it  was  to  her  to  go  on  these  expe- 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


337 


cations,  he  made  it  a  point,  whenever  he  was  bound  to  the  woods 
of  a  fine  day,  to  come  to  the  house  for  her.  Miss  Fortune  might 
object  as  she  pleased;  he  always  found  an  answer;  and  at  last 
Ellen  to  her  great  joy  would  be  told,  "  Well !  go  get  your  bonnet 


and  be  off  with  yourself."  Once  under  the  shadow  of  the  big 
trees^the  dried  leaves  crackling  beneath  her  feet,  and  alone  with 
her  kind  conductor, — and  Miss  Fortune  and  all  in  the  world  that 
was  disagreeable  was  forgotten — forgotten  no  more  to  be  remem 
bered  till  the  walk  should  come  to  an  end.  And  it  would  have 
surprised  any  body  to  hear  the  long  conversations  she  and  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  kept  up, — he,  the  silentest  man  in  Thirlwall  !  Their 
talk  often  ran  upon  trees,  among  which  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  at 
home.  Ellen  wanted  to  become  acquainted  with  them,  as  well  as 
with  the  little  flowers  that  grew  at  their  feet  j  and  he  tried  to 
P  w  29 


338  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

teach  her  how  to  know  each  separate  kind  by  the  bark  and  leaf 
and  manner  of  growth.  The  pine  and  hemlock  and  fir  were 
easily  learnt ;  the  white  birch  too  ;  beyond  those  at  first  she  was 
perpetually  confounding  one  with  another.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  to 
go  over  and  over  his  instructions ;  never  weary,  always  vastly 
amused.  Pleasant  lessons  these  were!  Ellen  thought  so,  and 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  thought  so  too. 

Then  there  were  walks  with  Alice,  pleasanter  still,  if  that  could 
be.  And  even  in  the  house  Ellen  managed  to  keep  a  token  of 
spring-time.  On  her  toilet-table,  the  three  uncouth  legs  of  which 
were  now  hidden  by  a  neat  dimity  cover,  there  always  stood  a 
broken  tumbler  with  a  supply  of  flowers.  The  supply  was  very 
varied,  it  is  true  ;  sometimes  only  a  handful  of  dandelions,  some 
times  a  huge  bunch  of  lilac  flowers,  which  could  not  be  persuaded 
to  stay  in  the  glass  without  the  help  of  the  wall,  against  which  it 
leaned  in  very  undignified  style ;  sometimes  the  bouquet  was  of 
really  delicate  and  beautiful  wild  flowers.  All  were  charming  in 
Ellen's  eyes. 

As  the  days  grew  long  and  the  weather  warm,  Alice  and  she 
began  to  make  frequent  trips  to  the  Cat's  back,  and  French  came 
very  much  into  fashion.  They  generally  took  Sharp  to  ease  the 
long  way,  and  rested  themselves  with  a  good  stay  on  the  mountain. 
Their  coming  was  always  a  joy  to  the  old  lady.  She  was  dearly 
fond  of  them  both,  and  delighted  to  hear  from  their  lips  the 
language  she  loved  best.  After  a  time  they  spoke  nothing  else 
when  with  her.  She  was  well  qualified  to  teach  them ;  and, 
indeed,  her  general  education  had  been  far  from  contemptible, 
though  nature  had  done  more  for  her.  As  the  language  grew 
familiar  to  them,  she  loved  to  tell  and  they  to  hear  long  stories  of 
her  youth  and  native  country, — scenes  and  people  so  very  different 
from  all  Ellen  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of;  and  told  in  a  lively 
simple  style  which  she  could  not  have  given  in  English,  and  with 
a  sweet  colouring  of  Christian  thought  and  feeling.  Many  things 
made  these  visits  good  and  pleasant.  It  was  not  the  least  of 
Alice's  and  Ellen's  joy  to  carry  their  old  friend  something  that 
might  be  for  her  comfort  in  her  lonely  way  of  life.  For  even 
Miss  Fortune  now  and  then  told  Ellen  "  she  might  take  a  piece  of 
that  cheese  along  with  her ;"  or  "  she  wondered  if  the  old  lady 
would  like  a  little  fresh  meat? — she  guessed  she'd  cut  her  a  bit 
of  that  nice  lamb;  she  wouldn't  want  but  a  little  piece."  A 
singular  testimony  this  was  to  the  respect  and  esteem  of  Mrs. 
Vawse  had  from  every  body.  Miss  Fortune  very,  very  seldom 
was  known  to  take  a  bit  from  her  own  comforts  to  add  to  those  of 
another.  The  ruling  passion  of  this  lady  was  thrift ;  her  next, 
good  housewifery.  First,  to  gather  to  herself  and  heap  up  of 
what  the  world  most  esteems  ;  after  that,  to  be  known  as  the 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  339 

most  thorough  housekeeper  and  the  smartest  woman  in  Thirl- 
wall. 

Ellen  made  other  visits  she  did  not  like  so  well.  In  the  course 
of  the  winter  and  summer  she  became  acquainted  with  most  of 
the  neighbourhood.  She  sometimes  went  with  her  aunt  to  a 
formal  tea-drinking,  one,  two,  three,  or  four  miles  off,  as  the  case 
might  be.  They  were  not  very  pleasant.  To  some  places  she 
was  asked  by  herself;  and  though  the  people  invariably  showed 
themselves  very  kind,  and  did  their  best  to  please  her,  Ellen 
seldom  cared  to  go  a  second  time ;  liked  even  home  and  Miss  For 
tune  better.  There  were  a  few  exceptions  ;  Jenny  Hitchcock  was 
one  of  her  favourites,  and  Jane  Huff  was  another ;  and  all  of  their 
respective  families  came  in,  with  good  reason,  for  a  share  of  her 
regard,  Mr.  Juniper  indeed  excepted.  Once  they  went  to  a  quilt 
ing  at  Squire  Dennison's ;  the  house  was  spotlessly  neat  and  well- 
ordered  ;  the  people  all  kind ;  but  Ellen  thought  they  did  not  seem 
to  know  how  to  be  pleasant.  Dan  Dennison  alone  had  no  stiffness 
about  him.  Miss  Fortune  remarked  with  pride  that  even  in  this 
family  of  pretension,  as  she  thought  it,  the  refreshments  could  bear 
no  comparison  with  hers.  Once  they  were  invited  to  tea  at  the 
Lawsons'  ;  but  Ellen  told  Alice,  with  much  apparent  disgust,  that 
she  never  wanted  to  go  again.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  she  saw  often. 
To  Thirlwall  Miss  Fortune  never  went. 

Twice  in  the  course  of  the  summer  Ellen  had  a  very  great  pleas 
ure  in  the  company  of  little  Ellen  Chauncey.  Once  Miss  Sophia 
brought  her,  and  once  her  mother ;  and  the  last  time  they  made  a 
visit  of  two  weeks.  On  both  occasions  Ellen  was  sent  for  to  the 
parsonage  and  kept  while  they  stayed  ;  and  the  pleasure  that  she 
and  her  little  friend  had  together  cannot  be  told.  It  was  unmixed 
now.  Rambling  about  through  the  woods  and  over  the  fields,  no 
matter  where,  it  was  all  enchanting ;  helping  Alice  garden  ;  help 
ing  Thomas  make  hay,  and  the  mischief  they  did  his  haycocks  by 
tumbling  upon  them,  and  the  patience  with  which  he  bore  it ;  the 
looking  for  eggs ;  the  helping  Margery  churn,  and  the  helping 
each  other  set  tables  ;  the  pleasant  mornings  and  pleasant  evenings 
and  pleasant  mid-days, — it  cannot  be  told.  Long  to  be  remem 
bered,  sweet  and  pure,  was  the  pleasure  of  those  summer  days,  un 
clouded  by  a  shade  of  discontent  or  disagreement  on  either  brow. 
Ellen  loved  the  whole  Marshman  family  now,  for  the  sake  of  one, 
the  one  she  had  first  known ;  and  little  Ellen  Chauncey  repeatedly 
told  her  mother  in  private  that  Ellen  Montgomery  was  the  very 
nicest  girl  she  had  ever  seen.  They  met  with  joy  and  parted  with 
sorrow,  entreating  and  promising,  if  possible,  a  speedy  meeting 
again.  ^ 

Amidst  all  the  improvement  and  enjoyment  of  these  summer 
months,  and  they  had  a  great  deal  of  both  for  Ellen,  there  was  one 


340  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

cause  of  sorrow  she  could  not  help  feeling,  and  it  began  to  press 
more  and  more.  Letters — they  came  slowly, — and  when  they  came 
they  were  not  at  all  satisfactory.  Those  in  her  mother's  hand 
dwindled  and  dwindled,  till  at  last  there  came  only  mere  scraps  of 
letters  from  her ;  and  sometimes  after  a  long  interval  one  from 
Captain  Montgomery  would  come  alone.  Ellen's  heart  sickened 
with  long-deferred  hope.  She  wondered  what  could  make  her 
mother  neglect  a  matter  so  necessary  for  her  happiness ;  sometimes 
she  fancied  they  were  travelling  about,  and  it  might  be  inconven 
ient  to  write ;  sometimes  she  thought  perhaps  they  were  coming 
home  without  letting  her  know,  and  would  suddenly  surprise  her 
some  day  and  make  her  half  lose  her  wits  with  joy.  But  they  did 
not  come,  nor  write  ;  and  whatever  was  the  reason,  Ellen  felt  it  was 
very  sad,  and  sadder  and  sadder  as  the  summer  went  on.  Her  own 
letters  became  pitiful  in  their  supplications  for  letters ;  they  had 
been  very  cheerful  and  filled  with  encouraging  matter,  and  in  part 
they  were  still. 

For  a  while  her  mind  was  diverted  from  this  sad  subject,  and 
her  brow  cleared  up,  when  John  came  home  in  August.  As  be 
fore,  Alice  gained  Miss  Fortune's  leave  to  keep  her  at  the  parson 
age  the  whole  time  of  his  stay,  which  was  several  weeks.  Ellen 
wondered  that  it  was  so  easily  granted,  but  she  was  much  too  happy 
to  spend  time  in  thinking  about  it.  Miss  Fortune  had  several  rea 
sons.  She  was  unwilling  to  displease  Miss  Humphreys,  and  con 
scious  that  it  would  be  a  shame  to  her  to  stand  openly  in  the  way 
of  Ellen's  good.  Besides,  though  Ellen's  services  were  lost  for  a 
time,  yet  she  said  she  got  tired  of  setting  her  to  work ;  she  liked 
to  dash  round  the  house  alone,  without  thinking  what  somebody 
else  was  doing  or  ought  to  be  doing.  In  short  she  liked  to  have 
her  out  of  the  way  for  a  while.  Furthermore,  it  did  not  please  her 
that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  her  little  handmaid  were,  as  she  expressed 
it,  "so  thick."  His  first  thought  and  his  last  thought,  she  said, 
she  believed  were  for  Ellen,  whether  she  came  in  or  went  out ;  and 
Miss  Fortune  was  accustomed  to  be  chief,  not  only  in  her  own 
house,  but  in  the  regards  of  all  who  came  to  it.  At  any  rate  the 
leave  was  granted  and  Ellen  went. 

And  now  was  repeated  the  pleasure  of  the  first  week  in  January. 
It  would  have  been  increased,  but  that  increase  was  not  possible. 
There  was  only  the  difference  between  lovely  winter  and  lovely 
summer  weather ;  it  was  seldom  very  hot  in  Thirlwall.  The  fields 
and  hills  were  covered  with  green  instead  of  white  ;  fluttering  leaves 
had  taken  the  place  of  snow-covered  sprays  and  sparkling  icicles ; 
and  for  the  keen  north  and  brisk  northwester,  soft  summer  airs  were 
blowing.  Ellen  saw  no  other  difference, — except  that  perhaps,  if 
it  could  be,  there  was  something  more  of  tenderness  in  the  manner 
of  Alice  and  her  brother  toward  her.  No  little  sister  could  have 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD  341 

been  more  cherished  and  cared  for.  If  there  was  a  change,  Mr. 
Humphreys  shared  it.  It  is  true  he  seldom  took  much  part  in  the 
conversation,  and  seldomer  was  with  them  in  any  of  their  pursuits 
or  pleasures.  He  generally  kept  by  himself  in  his  study.  But 
whenever  he  did  speak  to  Ellen  his  tone  was  particularly  gentle 
and  his  look  kind.  He  sometimes  called  her  "  My  little  daughter," 
which  always  gave  Ellen  great  pleasure ;  she  would  jump  at  such 
times  with  double  zeal  to  do  any  thing  he  asked  her. 

Now  drawing  went  on  with  new  vigour  under  the  eye  of  her 
master.  And  many  things  beside.  John  took  a  great  deal  of  pains 
with  her  in  various  ways.  He  made  her  read  to  him  ;  he  helped 
her  and  Alice  with  their  French ;  he  went  with  them  to  Mrs. 
Vawse's ;  and  even  Mr.  Humphreys  went  there  too  one  afternoon 
to  tea.  How  much  Ellen  enjoyed  that  afternoon  !  They  took  with 
them  a  great  basket  of  provisions,  for  Mrs.  Vawse  could  not  be  ex 
pected  to  entertain  so  large  a  party  ;  and  borrowed  Jenny  Hitch 
cock's  pony,  which  with  old  John  and  Sharp  mounted  three  of  the 
company  ;  they  took  turns  in  walking.  Nobody  minded  that.  The 
fine  weather,  the  beautiful  mountain-top,  the  general  pleasure,  Mr. 
Humphreys'  uncommon  spirits  and  talkableness,  the  oddity  of  their 
way  of  travelling,  and  of  a  tea-party  up  on  the  "  Cat's  back,"  and 
furthermore,  the  fact  that  Nancy  stayed  at  home  and  behaved  very 
well  the  whole  time,  all  together  filled  Ellen's  cup  of  happiness, 
for  the  time,  as  full  as  it  could  hold.  She  never  forgot  that  after 
noon.  And  the  ride  home  was  the  best  of  all.  The  sun  was  low 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  plain ;  long  shadows  lay  across  their 
road;  the  soft  air  just  stirred  the  leaves  on  the  branches;  stillness 
and  loveliness  were  over  all  things ;  and  down  the  mountain  and 
along  the  roads  through  the  open  country,  the  whole  way,  John 
walked  at  her  bridle ;  so  kind  in  his  care  of  her,  so  pleasant  in  his 
talk  to  her,  teaching  her  how  to  sit  in  the  saddle  and  hold  the  reins 
and  whip,  and  much  more  important  things  too,  that  Ellen  thought 
a  pleasanter  thing  could  not  be  than  to  ride  so.  After  that  they 
took  a  great  many  rides,  borrowing  Jenny's  pony  or  some  other, 
and  explored  the  beautiful  country  far  and  near.  And  almost  daily 
John  had  up  Sharp  and  gave  Ellen  a  regular  lesson.  She  often 
thought,  and  sometimes  looked,  what  she  had  once  said  to  him,  "  I 
wish  I  could  do  something  for  you,  Mr.  John ;" — but  he  smiled  at 
her  and  said  nothing. 

At  last  he  was  gone.  And  in  all  the  week  he  had  been  at  home, 
and  in  many  weeks  before,  no  letter  had  come  for  Ellen.  The 
thought  had  been  kept  from  weighing  upon  her  by  the  thousand 
pleasures  that  filled  up  every  moment  of  his  stay ;  she  could  not 
be  sad  then,  or  only  for  a  minute ;  hope  threw  off  the  sorrow  as 
soon  as  it  was  felt ;  and  she  forgot  how  time  flew.  But  when  his 
visit  was  over,  and  she  went  back  to  her  old  place  and  her  old  life 


342  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD 

at  her  aunt's,  the  old  feeling  came  back  in  greater  strength.  She 
began  again  to  count  the  days  and  the  weeks ;  to  feel  the  bitter  un 
satisfied  longing.  Tears  would  drop  down  upon  her  Bible ;  tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes  when  she  prayed  that  God  would  make  her 
mother  well  and  bring  her  home  to  her  quickly, — oh,  quickly ! — 
and  little  Ellen's  face  began  to  wear  once  more  something  of  its 
old  look. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and  the  sorrow, 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied  longing, 
All  the  dull  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of  patience  ! 

LONGFELLOW. 

. 

ONE  day  in  the  early  part  of  September,  she  was  standing  in 
front  of  the  house  at  the  little  wicket  that  opened  on  the  road. 
With  her  back  against  the  open  gate,  she  was  gently  moving  it  to 
and  fro,  half  enjoying  the  weather  and  the  scene,  half  indulging 
the  melancholy  mood  which  drove  her  from  the  presence  of  her 
bustling  aunt.  The  gurgling  sound  of  the  brook  a  few  steps  off 
was  a  great  deal  more  soothing  to  her  ear  than  Miss  Fortune's 
sharp  tones.  By  and  by  a  horseman  came  in  sight  at  the  far  end 
of  the  road,  and  the  brook  was  forgotten.  What  made  Ellen  look 
at  him  so  sharply  ?  Poor  child,  she  was  always  expecting  news. 
At  first  she  could  only  see  that  the  man  rode  a  white  horse ;  then, 
as  he  came  nearer,  an  odd  looped-up  hat  showed  itsejf, — and  some 
thing  queer  in  his  hand, — what  was  it?  who  is  it? — The  old  news 
man  !  Ellen  was  sure.  Yes — she  could  now  see  his  saddle-bags,  and 
the  white  horse-tail  set  in  a  handle  with  which  he  was  brushing 
away  the  flies  from  his  horse ;  the  tin  trumpet  was  in  his  other 
hand,  to  blow  withal.  He  was  a  venerable  old  figure  with  all  his 
oddities ;  clad  in  a  suit  of  snuff  brown,  with  a  neat  quiet  look  about 
him,  he  and  the  saddle-bags  and  the  white  horse  jogged  on  together 
as  if  they  belonged  to  nothing  else  in  the  world  but  each  other. 
In  an  ecstasy  of  fear  and  hope  Ellen  watched  the  pace  of  the  old 
horse  to  see  if  it  gave  any  sign  of  slackening  near  the  gate.  Her 
breath  came  short,  she  hardly  breathed  at  all,  she  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot.  Would  he  stop,  or  was  he  going  on  !  Oh,  the 
long  agony  of  two  minutes ! — He  stopped.  Ellen  went  toward 
him. 

"  What  little  gal  is  this?"  said  he. 

"I  am  Ellen  Montgomery,  sir,"  said  Ellen  eagerly ;— "  Miss 
Fortune's  niece — I  live  here." 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  up  his  saddle-bags, — 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  343 

"  Miss  Fortune's  niece,  eh  ?  Well — I  believe — as  I've  got  some- 
thin5  for  her — somethin'  here — aunt  well,  eh  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  That's  more  than  you  be,  ain't  it?"  said  he,  glancing  sideways 
at  Ellen's  face.  "  How  do  you  know  but  I've  got  a  letter  for  you 
here,  eh?" 

The  colour  rushed  to  that  face,  and  she  clasped  her  hands. 

"No,  dear,  no,"  said  he, — "I  ha' n't  got  any  for  you— it's  for 
the  old  lady — there,  run  in  with  it,  dear." 

But  Ellen  knew  before  she  touched  it  that  it  was  a  foreign  letter, 
and  dashed  into  the  house  with  it.  Miss  Fortune  coolly  sent  her 
back  to  pay  the  postage. 

When  she  came  in  again  her  aunt  was  still  reading  the  letter. 
But  her  look,  Ellen  felt,  was  unpromising.  She  did  not  venture  to 
speak  ;  expectation  was  chilled.  She  stood  till  Miss  Fortune  began 
to  fold  up  the  paper. 

"  Is  there  nothing  for  me  ?"   she  said  then  timidly. 

"No." 

"Oh,  why  don't  she  write  tome!"  cried  Ellen,  bursting  into 
tears. 

Miss  Fortune  stalked  about  the  room  without  any  particular  pur 
pose,  as  far  as  could  be  seen. 

"It  is  very  strange  !"  said  Ellen  sorrowfully, — "  I  am  afraid  she 
is  worse — does  papa  say  she  is  worse  ?' ' 

"No." 

"  Oh,  if  she  had  only  sent  me  a  message  !  I  should  think  she 
might ;  oh,  I  wish  she  had  ! — three  words  ! — does  papa  say  why  she 
don't  write?" 

"No." 

"  It  is  very  strange  !"  repeated  poor  Ellen. 

"Your  father  talks  of  coming  home,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  after 
a  few  minutes,  during  which  Ellen  had  been  silently  weeping. 

"  Home !— Then  she  must  be  better !"  said  Ellen  with  new  life  ; 
"  does  papa  say  she  is  better  ?" 

"No." 

"  But  what  does  he  mean  ?"  said  Ellen  uneasily  ;— "  I  don't  see 
what  he  means ;  he  doesn't  say  she  is  worse,  and  he  doesn't  say  she 
is  better, — what  does  he  say?" 

"  He  don't  say  much  about  any  thing." 

"  Does  he  say  when  they  are  coming  home  ?" 

Miss  Fortune  mumbled  something  about  "  Spring,"  and  whisked 
off  to  the  buttery  ;  Ellen  thought  no  more  was  to  be  got  out  of  her. 
She  felt  miserable.  Her  father  and  her  aunt  both  seemed  to  act 
strangely  ;  and  where  to  find  comfort  she  scarcely  knew.  She  ^had 
one  day  been  telling  her  doubts  and  sorrows  to  John.  He  did  not 
try  to  raise  her  hopes,  but  said,  "  Troubles  will  come  in  this  world, 


344  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellie ;  the  best  is  to  trust  them  and  ourselves  to  our  dear  Saviour, 
and  let  trials  drive  us  to  him.  Seek  to  love  him  more  and  to  be 
patient  under  his  will ;  the  good  Shepherd  means  nothing  but  kind 
ness  to  any  lamb  in  his  flock, — you  may  be  sure  of  that,  Ellie." 

Ellen  remembered  his  words  and  tried  to  follow  them  now,  but 
she  could  not  be  "patient  under  his  will"  yet, — not  quite.  It  was 
very  hard  to  be  patient  in  such  uncertainty.  With  swimming  eyes 
she  turned  over  her  Bible  in  search  of  comfort,  and  found  it.  Her 
eye  lit  upon  words  she  knew  very  well,  but  that  were  like  the  fresh 
sight  of  a  friend's  face  for  all  that, — "Let  not  your  heart  be 
troubled  ;  ye  believe  in  God,  believe  also  in  me.  In  my  Father's 
house  are  many  mansions."  There  is  no  parting  there,  thought 
'little  Ellen.  She  cried  a  long  time ;  but  she  was  comforted  never 
theless.  The  heart  that  rests  on  the  blessed  One  who  said  those 
words  can  never  be  quite  desolate. 

For  several  days  things  went  on  in  the  old  train,  only  her  aunt, 
she  thought,  was  sometimes  rather  queer, — not  quite  as  usual  in 
her  manner  toward  her.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  not  rather  but  very 
queer ;  he  scarce  spoke  or  looked  at  Ellen ;  bolted  down  his  food 
and  was  off  without  a  word ;  and  even  stayed  away  entirely  from 
two  or  three  meals.  She  saw  nobody  else.  Weather  and  other 
circumstances  prevented  her  going  to  the  mountain. 

One  afternoon  she  was  giving  her  best  attention  to  a  French  les 
son,  when  she  heard  herself  called.  Miss  Fortune  was  in  the  lower 
kitchen  dipping  candles.  Ellen  ran  down. 

"  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  these  candles,"  said  Miss  Fortune. 
— "  I  can't  make  'em  hang  together;  the  tallow  ain't  good,  I  guess. 
Where's  the  nearest  place  they  keep  bees?" 

"  They  have  got  bees  at  Mrs.  Hitchcock's."  said  Ellen. 

"  So  they  have  in  Egypt,  for  any  thing  I  know,"  said  her  aunt; 
— "  one  would  be  about  as  much  good  now  as  t'other.  Mrs.  Lown- 
des  ! — that  ain't  far  off.  Put  on  your  bonnet,  Ellen,  and  run  over 
there,  and  ask  her  to  let  me  have  a  little  bees-wax.  I'll  pay  her  in 
something  she  likes  best." 

"Does  Mrs.  Lowndes  keep  bee-hives?"   said  Ellen  doubtfully. 

"No — she  makes  the  bees-wax  herself,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  in 
the  tone  she  always  took  when  any  body  presumed  to  suppose  she 
might  be  mistaken  in  any  thing. 

"  How  much  shall  I  ask  for?"  said  Ellen. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know — a  pretty  good  piece." 

Ellen  was  not  very  clear  what  quantity  this  might  mean.  How 
ever  she  wisely  asked  no  more  questions,  and  set  out  upon  her  walk. 
It  was  hot  and  disagreeable;  just  the  time  of  day  when  the  sun 
had  most  power,  and  Mrs.  Lowndes'  house  was  about  half  way  on 
the  road  to  Alice's.  It  was  not  a  place  where  Ellen  liked  to  go, 
though  the  people  always  made  much  of  her;  she  did  not  fancy 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  345 

them,  and  regularly  kept  out  of  their  way  when  she  could.  Miss 
Mary  Lawson  was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Lowndes  and  her  daughter 
when  Ellen  came  in  and  briefly  gave  her  aunt's  message. 

" Bees-wax,"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes, — "well,  I  don't  know — How 
much  does  she  want?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,  exactly;  she  said  a  pretty  good  piece." 

"  What's  it  for?  do  you  know,  honey?" 

"  I  believe  it's  to  put  in  some  tallow  for  candles,"  said  Ellen  ; — 
"  the  tallow  was  too  soft  she  said." 

"  I  didn't  know  Miss  Fortune's  tallow  was  ever  any  thing  but 
the  hardest,"  said  Sarah  Lowndes. 

"  You  had  better  not  let  your  aunt  know  you've  told  on  her, 
Ellen,"  remarked  Mary  Lawson  ;  "  she  won't  thank  you." 

"  Had  she  a  good  lot  of  taller  to  make  up  ?"  inquired  the  mother, 
preparing  to  cut  her  bees-wax. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am ;  she  had  a  big  kettle,  but  I  don't  know 
how  full  it  was." 

"  You  may  as  well  cut  a  good  piece,  ma,  while  you  are  about  it," 
said  the  daughter; — "  and  ask  her  to  let  us  have  a  piece  of  her 
sage  cheese,  will  you  ?' ' 

"  Is  it  worth  while  to  weigh  it?"  whispered  Mrs.  Lowndes. 

Her  daughter  answered  in  the  same  tone,  and  Miss  Mary  joining 
them,  a  conversation  of  some  length  went  on  over  the  bees-wax 
which  Ellen  could  not  hear.  The  tones  of  the  speakers  became 
lower  and  lower ;  till  at  length  her  own  name  and  an  incautious 
sentence  were  spoken  more  distinctly  and  reached  her. 

"  Shouldn't  you  think  Miss  Fortune  might  put  a  black  ribbon  at 
least  on  her  bonnet?" 

"  Any  body  but  her  would." 

"  Hush  ! "     They  whispered  again  under  breath. 

The  words  entered  Ellen's  heart  like  cold  iron.  She  did  not 
move,  hand  or  foot ;  she  sat  motionless  with  pain  and  fear,  yet  what 
she  feared  she  dared  not  think.  When  the  bees-wax  was  given  her 
she  rose  up  from  her  chair  and  stood  gazing  into  Mrs.  Lowndes' 
face  as  if  she  had  lost  her  senses. 

"  My  goodness,  child,  how  you  look  !"  said  that  lady.  "  What 
ails  you,  honey?" 

"  Ma'am,"  said  Ellen, — "what  was  that  you  said,  about " 

"About  what,  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes,  with  a  startled  look 
at  the  others. 

"  About — a  ribbon — "  said  Ellen,  struggling  to  get  the  words 
out  of  white  lips. 

"  My  goodness  !"  said  the  other ; — "  did  you  ever  hear  any  thing 
like  that? — I  didn't  say  nothing  about  a  ribbon,  dear." 

"  Do  you  suppose  her  aunt  ha'n't  told  her?"  said  Miss  Mary  in 
an  under  tone. 


346  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Told  me  what?"   cried  Ellen  ;— "  Oh,  what?— what?1' 

"  I  wish  I  was  a  thousand  miles  off!"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes ; — "  I 
don't  know,  dear — I  don't  know  what  it  is — Miss  Alice  knows." 

"  Yes,  ask  Miss  Alice,"  said  Mary  Lawson ; — "  she  knows  better 
than  we  do." 

Ellen  looked  doubtfully  from  one  to  the  other;  then  as  "Go  ask 
Miss  Alice,"  was  repeated  on  all  sides,  she  caught  up  her  bonnet 
and  flinging  the  bees- wax  from  her  hand  darted  out  of  the  house. 
Those  she  had  left  looked  at  each  other  a  minute  in  silence. 

"Ain't  that  too  bad  now!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lowndes,  crossing 
the  room  to  shut  the  door.  "  But  what  could  I  say  ?" 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  I  am  sure — I  had  no  head  to  look,  or  any  thing 
else.  I  wonder  if  I  had  ought  to  ha'  told  her. — But  I  couldn't 
ha'  done  it." 

"  Just  look  at  her  bees-wax  !"   said  Sarah  Lowndes. 

"  She  will  kill  herself  if  she  runs  up  the  mountain  at  that  rate," 
said  Mary  Lawson. 

They  all  made  a  rush  to  the  door  to  look  after  her. 

"  She  ain't  in  sight,"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes  ; — "  if  she's  gone  the 
way  to* the  Nose  she's  got  as  far  as  them  big  poplars  already,  or 
she'd  be  some  where  this  side  of  'em  where  we  could  see  her." 

"  You  hadn't  ought  to  ha'  let  her  go,  'ma,  in  all  this  sun,"  said 
Miss  Lowndes. 

"I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes,  "she  scared  me  so  I  hadn't 
three  idees  left  in  my  head.  I  wish  I  knew  where  she  was,  though, 
poor  little  soul !" 

Ellen  was  far  on  her  way  to  the  mountain,  pressed  forward  by  a 
fear  that  knew  no  stay  of  heat  or  fatigue ;  they  were  little  to  her 
that  day.  She  saw  nothing  on  her  way ;  all  within  and  without 
were  swallowed  up  in  that  one  feeling ;  yet  she  dared  not  think 
what  it  was  she  feared.  She  put  that  by.  Alice  knew,  Alice  would 
tell  her ;  on  that  goal  her  heart  fixed,  to  that  she  pressed  on ;  but 
oh,  the  while,  what  a  cloud  was  gathering  over  her  spirit,  and  grow 
ing  darker  and  darker.  Her  hurry  of  mind  and  hurry  of  body 
made  each  other  worse ;  it  must  be  so ;  and  when  she  at  last  ran 
round  the  corner  of  the  house  and  burst  in  at  the  glass  door  she 
was  in  a  frightful  state. 

Alice  started  up  and  faced  her  as  she  came  in,  but  with  a  look 
that  stopped  Ellen  short.  She  stood  still ;  the  colour  in  her  cheeks, 
as  her  eyes  read  Alice's,  faded  quite  away  ;  words  and  the  power 
to  speak  them  were  gone  together.  Alas  !  the  need  to  utter  them 
was  gone  too.  Alice  burst  into  tears  and  held  out  her  arms,  say 
ing  only,  "  My  poor  child  !"  Ellen  reached  her  arms,  and  strength 
and  spirit  seemed  to  fail  there.  Alice  thought  she  had  fainted  ;  she 
laid  her  on  the  sofa,  called  Margery,  and  tried  the  usual  things. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  347 

weeping  bitterly  herself  as  she  did  so.  It  was  not  fainting  how 
ever  ;  Ellen's  senses  soon  came  back  ;  but  she  seemed  like  a  person 
stunned  with  a  great  blow,  and  Alice  wished  grief  had  had  any 
other  effect  upon  her.  It  lasted  for  days.  A  kind  of  stupor  hung 
over  her ;  tears  did  not  come ;  the  violent  strain  of  every  nerve  and 
feeling  seemed  to  have  left  her  benumbed.  She  would  sleep  long 
heavy  sleeps  the  greater  part  of  the  time,  and  seemed  to  have  no 
power  to  do  any  thing  else. 

Her  adopted  sister  watched  her  constantly,  and  for  those  days 
lived  but  to  watch  her.  She  had  heard  all  Ellen's  story  from 
Mary  Lawson  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  who  had  both  been  to  the 
parsonage,  one  on  Mrs.  Lowndes'  part,  the  other  on  his  own,  to  ask 
about  her ;  and  she  dreaded  that  a  violent  fit  of  illness  might  be 
brought  on  by  all  Ellen  had  undergone.  She  was  mistaken,  how 
ever.  Ellen  was  not  ill ;  but  her  whole  mind  and  body  bowed 
under  the  weight  of  the  blow  that  had  come  upon  her.  As  the 
first  stupor  wore  off  there  were  indeed  more  lively  signs  of  grief; 
she  would  weep  till  she  wept  her  eyes  out,  and  that  often,  but  it 
was  very  quietly ;  no  passionate  sobbing,  no  noisy  crying ;  sorrow 
had  taken  too  strong  hold  to  be  struggled  with,  and  Ellen  meekly 
bowed  her  head  to  it.  Alice  saw  this  with  the  greatest  alarm. 
She  had  refused  to  let  her  go  back  to  her  aunt's ;  it  was  impossible 
to  do  otherwise ;  yet  it  may  be  that  Ellen  would  have  been  better  there. 
The  busy  industry  to  which  she  would  have  been  forced  at  home 
might  have  roused  her ;  as  it  was,  nothing  drew  her,  and  nothing 
could  be  found  to  draw  her,  from  her  own  thoughts. "  Her  interest 
in  every  thing  seemed  to  be  gone.  Books  had  lost  their  charm. 
Walks  and  drives  and  staying  at  home  were  all  one,  except  indeed 
that  she  rather  liked  best  the  latter.  Appetite  failed ;  her  cheek 
grew  colourless  ;  and  Alice  began  to  fear  that  if  a  stop  were  not 
soon  put  to  this  gradual  sinking  it  would  at  last  end  with  her  life. 
But  all  her  efforts  were  without  fruit  ;~~and  the  winter  was  a 
sorrowful  one  not  to  Ellen  alone. 

As  it  wore  on,  there  came  to  be  one  thing  in  which  Ellen  again 
took  pleasure,  and  that  was  her  Bible.  She  used  to  get  alone  or 
into  a  corner  with  it,  and  turn  the  leaves  over  and  over ;  looking 
out  its  gentle  promises  and  sweet  comforting  words  to  the  weak 
and  the  sorrowing.  She  loved  to  read  about  Christ, — all  he  said 
and  did ;  all  his  kindness  to  his  people  and  tender  care  of  them  ; 
the  love  shown  them  here  and  the  joys  prepared  for  them  hereafter. 
She  began  to  cling  more  to  that  one  unchangeable  friend  from 
whose  love  neither  life  nor  death  can  sever  those  that  believe  in 
him  ;  and  her  heart,  tossed  and  shaken  as  it  had  been,  began  to 
take  rest  again  in  that  happy  resting-place  with  stronger  affection 
and  even  with  greater  joy  than  ever  before.  Yet  for  all  that,  this 
joy  often  kept  company  with  bitter  weeping;  the  stirring  of  any 


348  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

thing  like  pleasure  roused  sorrow  up  afresh  ;  and  though  Ellen's 
look  of  sadness  grew  less  dark,  Alice  could  not  see  that  her  face 
was  at  all  less  white  and  thin.  She  never  spoke  of  her  mother 
after  once  hearing  when  and  where  she  had  died ;  she  never  hinted 
at  her  loss,  except  exclaiming  in  an  agony,  "  I  shall  get  no  more 
letters  !"  and  Alice  dared  not  touch  upon  what  the  child  seemed  to 
avoid  so  carefully ;  though  Ellen  sometimes  wept  on  her  bosom, 
and  often  sat  for  hours  still  and  silent  with  her  head  in  her  lap. 

The  time  drew  nigh  when  John  was  expected  home  for  the 
holidays.  In  the  mean  while  they  had  had  many  visits  from  other 
friends.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  come  several  times,  enough  to  set 
the  whole  neighbourhood  a  wondering  if  they  had  only  known  it ; 
his  good  old  mother  oftener  still.  Mrs.  Vawse  as  often  as  possible. 
Miss  Fortune  once  ;  and  that  because,  as  she  said  to  herself, 
"  every  body  would  be  talking  about  what  was  none  of  their 
business  if  she  didn't."  As  neither  she  nor  Ellen  knew  in  the 
least  what  to  say  to  each  other,  the  visit  was  rather  a  dull  one, 
spite  of  all  Alice  could  do.  Jenny  Hitchcock  and  the  Huffs  and 
the  Dennisons,  and  others,  came  now  and  then  ;  but  Ellen  did  not 
like  to  see  any  of  them  all  but  Mrs.  Vawse.  Alice  longed  for  her 
brother. 

He  came  at  last,  just  before  New  Year's.  It  was  the  middle  of 
a  fine  afternoon,  and  Alice  and  her  father  had  gone  in  the  sleigh 
to  Carra-carra.  Ellen  had  chosen  to  stay  behind,  but  Margery  did 
not  know  this,  and  of  course  did  not  tell  John.  After  paying  a 
visit  to  her  in  the  kitchen,  he  had  come  back  to  the  empty  sitting- 
room,  and  was  thoughtfully  walking  up  and  down  the  floor,  when 
the  door  of  Alice's  room  slowly  opened  and  Ellen  appeared.  It 
was  never  her  way,  when  she  could  help  it,  to  show  violent  feeling 
before  other  people  ;  so  she  had  been  trying  to  steel  herself  to  meet 
John  without  crying,  and  now  came  in  with  her  little  grave  face 
prepared  not  to  give  way.  His  first  look  had  like  to  overset  it 
all. 

"  Ellie  !"  said  he  ; — "  I  thought  everybody  was  gone.  My  dear 
Ellie!— " 

Ellen  could  hardly  stand  the  tone  of  these  three  words,  and  she 
bore  with  the  greatest  difficulty  the  kiss  that  followed  them  ;  it 
took  but  a  word  or  two  more,  and  a  glance  at  the  old  look  and 
smile,  to  break  down  entirely  all  her  guard.  According  to  her 
usual  fashion  she  was  rushing  away ;  but  John  held  her  fast,  and 
though  gently  drew  her  closfc  to  him. 

"  I  will  not  let  you  forget  that  I  am  your  brother,  Ellie,"  said 
he. 

Ellen  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder,  and  cried  as  if  she  had  never 
cried  before. 

"  Ellie,"  said  he  after  a  while,  speaking  low  and  tenderly,  "  the 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  349 

Bible  says,  '  We  have  known  and  believed  the  love  that  God  hath 
toward  us  ;' — have  you  remembered  and  believed  this  lately  ?" 

Ellen  did  not  answer. 

"  Have  you  remembered  that  God  loves  every  sinner  that  has 
believed  in  his  dear  Son  ? — and  loves  them  so  well  that  he  will  let 
nothing  come  near  them  to  harm  them  ? — and  loves  them  never 
better  than  when  he  sends  bitter  trouble  on  them  ?  It  is  wonder 
ful  !  but  it  is  true.  Have  you  thought  of  this,  Ellie  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  is  not  in  anger  he  does  it ; — it  is  not  that  he  has  forgotten 
you  ; — it  is  not  that  he  is  careless  of  your  trembling  little  heart, — 
never,  never !  If  you  are  his  child,  all  is  done  in  love  and  shall 
work  good  for  you ;  and  if  we  often  cannot  see  how,  it  is  because 
we  are  weak  and  foolish,  and  can  see  but  a  very  little  way." 

Ellen  listened,  with  her  face  hid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  love  Christ,  Ellen  ?" 

She  nodded,  weeping  afresh. 

"  Do  you  love  him  less  since  he  has  brought  you  into  this  great 
sorrow?" 

"No,"  sobbed  Ellen;— "more." 

He  drew  her  closer  to  his  breast  and  was  silent  a  little  while. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that ! — then  all  will  be  well. 
And  haven't  you  the  best  reason  to  think  that  all  is  well  with  your 
dear  mother?" 

Ellen  almost  shrieked.  Her  mother's  name  had  not  been  spoken 
before  her  in  a  great  while,  and  she  could  hardly  bear  to  hear  it 
now.  Her  whole  frame  quivered  with  hysterical  sobs. 

"  Hush,  Ellie !"  said  John,  in  a  tone  that,  low  as  it  was,  some 
how  found  its  way  through  all  her  agitation,  and  calmed  her  like  a 
spell ;— "  have  you  not  good  reason  to  believe  that  all  is  well  with 
her?" 

"Oh,  yes!— oh,  yes!" 

"  She  loved  and  trusted  him  too ;  and  now  she  is  with  him 

she  has  reached  that  bright  home  where  there  is  no  more  sin,  nor 
sorrow,  nor  death." 

"Nor  parting  either,"  sobbed  Ellen,  whose  agitation  was  ex 
cessive. 

"  Nor  parting  ! — and  though  we  are  parted  from  them,  it  is  but 
for  a  little ;  let  us  watch  and  keep  our  garments  clean,  and  soon 
we  shall  be  all  together,  and  have  done  with  tears  for  ever.  She 
has  done  with  them  now. — Did  you  hear  from  her  again?" 

"  Oh,  no — not  a  word  !" 

"  That  is  a  hard  trial.— But  in  it  all,  believe,  dear  Ellie,  the  love 
that  God  hath  toward  us  ; — remember  that  our  dear  Saviour  is  near 
us,  and  feels  for  us,  and  is  the  same  at  all  times. — And  don't  cry 
so,  Ellie." 

30 


350  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

He  kissed  her  once  or  twice,  and  begged  her  to  calm  herself. 
For  it  seemed  as  if  Ellen's  very  heart  was  flowing  away  in  her 
tears ;  yet  they  were  gentler  and  softer  far  than  at  the  beginning. 
The  conversation  had  been  a  great  relief.  The  silence  between  her 
and  Alice  on  the  thing  always  in  her  mind,  a  silence  neither  of 
them  dared  to  break,  had  grown  painful.  The  spell  was  taken  off; 
and  though  at  first  Ellen's  tears  knew  no  measure,  she  was  easier 
even  then ;  as  John  soothed  her  and  went  on  with  his  kind  talk, 
gradually  leading  it  away  from  their  first  subject  to  other  things, 
she  grew  not  only  calm  but  more  peaceful  at  heart  than  months 
had  seen  her.  She  was  quite  herself  again  before  Alice  came 
home. 

"  You  have  done  her  good  already,"  exclaimed  Alice  as  soon  as 
Ellen  was  out  of  the  room  ; — u  I  knew  you  would ;  I  saw  it  in  her 
face  as  soon  as  I  came  in." 

"  It  is  time,"  said  her  brother.     "  She  is  a  dear  little  thing  !" 

The  next  day,  in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  Ellen,  to  her  great 
surprise,  saw  Sharp  brought  before  the  door  with  the  side-saddle 
on,  and  Mr.  John  carefully  looking  to  the  girth  and  shortening  the 
stirrup. 

"  Why,  Alice,"  she  exclaimed, — "what  is  Mr.  John  going  to 
do?" 

"I  don't  know,  Ellie,  I  am  sure;  he  does  queer  things  some 
times.  What  makes  you  ask?" 

Before  she  could  answer  he  opened  the  door. 

"  Come,  Ellen — go  and  get  ready.  Bundle  up  well,  for  it  is 
rather  frosty.  Alice,  has  she  a  pair  of  gloves  that  are  warm 
enough?  Lend  her  yours,  and  I'll  see  if  I  can  find  some  at  Thirl- 
wall." 

Ellen  thought  she  would  rather  not  go ;  to  anybody  else  she 
would  have  said  so.  Half  a  minute  she  stood  still — then  went  to 
put  on  her  things. 

"  Alice,  you  will  be  ready  by  the  time  we  get  back  ? — in  half  an 
hour." 

Ellen  had  an  excellent  lesson,  and  her  master  took  care  it  should 
not  be  an  easy  one.  She  came  back  looking  as  she  had  not  done 
all  winter.  Alice  was  not  quite  ready ;  while  waiting  for  her  John 
went  to  the  bookcase  and  took  down  the  first  volume  of  "  Rollin's 
Ancient  History ;"  and  giving  it  to  Ellen,  said  he  would  talk  with 
her  to-morrow  about  the  first  twenty  pages.  The  consequence  was, 
the  hour  and  a  half  of  their  absence  instead  of  being  moped  away 
was  spent  in  hard  study.  A  pair  of  gloves  was  bought  at  Thirl- 
wall ;  Jenny  Hitchcock's  pony  was  sent  for;  and  after  that,  every 
day  when  the  weather  would  at  all  do  they  took  a  long  ride.  By 
degrees  reading  and  drawing  and  all  her  studies  were  added  to  the 
history,  till  Ellen's  time  was  well  filled  with  business  again.  Alice 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  351 

had  endeavoured  to  bring  this  about  before,  but  fruitlessly.  What 
she  asked  of  her  Ellen  indeed  tried  to  do  ;  what  John  told  her  was 
done.  She  grew  a  different  creature.  Appetite  came  back ;  the 
colour  sprang  again  to  her  cheek  ;  hope — meek  and  sober  as  it  was, — 
relighted  her  eye.  In  her  eagerness  to  pleasaand  satisfy  her  teacher 
her  whole  soul  was  given  to  the  performance  of  whatever  he  wished 
her  to  do.  The  effect  was  all  that  he  looked  for. 

The  second  evening  after  he  came,  John  called  Ellen  to  his  side, 
saying  he  had  something  he  wanted  to  read  to  her.  It  was  be 
fore  candles  were  brought,  but  the  room  was  full  of  light  from  the 
blazing  wood  fire.  Ellen  glanced  at  his  book  as  she  came  to  the 
sofa ;  it  was  a  largish  volume  in  a  black  leather  cover  a  good  deal 
worn  ;  it  did  not  look  at  all  interesting. 

"  What  is  it?"   she  asked. 

"  It  is  called,"  said  John,  "  *  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  from  this 
world  to  a  better.'" 

Ellen  thought  it  did  not  sound  at  all  interesting.  She  had  never 
been  more  mistaken  in  her  life,  and  that  she  found  almost  as  soon 
as  he  begun.  Her  attention  was  nailed  ;  the  listless,  careless  mood 
in  which  she  sat  down  was  changed  for  one  of  rapt  delight ;  -she 
devoured  every  word  that  fell  from  the  reader's  lips  ;  indeed,  they 
were  given  their  fullest  effect  by  a  very  fine  voice  and  singularly 
fine  reading.  Whenever  any  thing  might  not  be  quite  clear  to 
Ellen,  John  stopped  to  make  it  so ;  and  with  his  help,  and  without 
it,  many  a  lesson  went  home.  Next  day  she  looked  a  long  time  for 
the  book  ;  it  could  not  be  found  ;  she  was  forced  to  wait  until  even 
ing.  Then  to  her  great  joy,  it  was  brought  out  again,  and  John 
asked  her  if  she  wished  to  hear  some  more  of  it.  After  that,  every 
evening  while  he  was  at  home  they  spent  an  hour  with  the  "  Pil 
grim."  Alice  would  leave  her  work  and  come  to  the  sofa  too ;  and 
with  her  head  on  her  brother's  shoulder,  her  hand  in  his,  and 
Ellen's  face  leaning  against  his  other  arm,  that  was  the  common 
way  they  placed  themselves  to  see  and  hear.  No  words  can  tell 
Ellen's  enjoyment  of  those  readings.  They  made  her  sometimes 
laugh  and  sometimes  cry ;  they  had  much  to  do  in  carrying  on  the 
cure  which  John's  wisdom  and  kindness  had  begun. 

They  came  to  the  place  where  Christian  loses  his  burden  at 
the  cross ;  and  as  he  stood  looking  and  weeping,  three  shining 
ones  came  to  him.  The  first  said  to  him,  "  Thy  sins  be  forgiven 
thee ;' '  the  second  stripped  him  of  his  rags  and  clothed  him 
with  a  change  of  raiment ;  the  third  also  set  a  mark  on  his  fore 
head. 

John  explained  what  was  meant  by  the  rags  and  the  change  of 
raiment. 

"  And  the  mark  in  his  forehead  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"That  is  the  mark  of  God's  children — the  change  wrought  in 


352  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

them  by  the  Holy  Spirit, — the  change  that  makes  them  different 
from  others,  and  different  from  their  old  selves." 

"Do  all  Christians  have  it?" 

"  Certainly.     None  can  be  a  Christian  without  it." 

"  But  how  can  one  tell  whether  one  has  it  or  no  ?"  said  Ellen, 
very  gravely. 

"  Carry  your  heart  and  life  to  the  Bible  and  see  how  they  agree. 
The  Bible  gives  a  great  many  signs  and  descriptions  by  whicli 
Christians  may  know  themselves, — know  both  what  they  are  and 
what  they  ought  to  be.  If  you  find  your  own  feelings  and  man 
ner  of  life  at  one  with  these  Bible  words,  you  may  hope  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  has  changed  you  and  set  his  mark  upon  you." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  of  one  of  those  places,"  said  Ellen. 

"  The  Bible  is  full  of  them.  '  To  them  that  believe  Christ  is 
precious,1 — there  is  one.  '  If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  commandments  ? 
— '  He  that  saith  he  abideth  in  him  ought  himself  also  so  to  walk 
even  as  he  walked  ;' — '  O  how  love  I  thy  law!'  The  Bible  is  full 
of  them,  Ellie ;  but  you  have  need  to  ask  for  great  help  when  you 
go  to  try  yourself  by  them  ;  the  heart  is  deceitful." 

Ellen  looked  sober  all  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  the  next  day 
she  pondered  the  matter  a  good  deal. 

"  I  think  I  am  changed,"  she  said  to  herself  at  last.  "  I  didn't 
use  to  like  to  read  the  Bible,  and  now  I  do  very  much  ; — I  never 
liked  praying  in  old  times,  and  now,  oh,  what  should  I  do  without 
it ! — I  didn't  love  Jesus  at  all,  but  I  am  sure  I  do  now.  I  don't 
keep  his  commandments,  but  I  do  try  to  keep  them  ; — I  must  be 
changed  a  little.  Oh,  I  wish  mamma  had  known  it  before ." 

Weeping  with  mixed  sorrow  and  thankful  joy,  Ellen  bent  her 
head  upon  her  little  Bible  to  pray  that  she  might  be  more  changed  ; 
and  then,  as  she  often  did,  raised  the  cover  to  look  at  the  texts  in 
the  beloved  handwriting. 

"  I  love  them  that  love  me,  arid  they  that  seek  me  early  shall 
find  me." 

Ellen's  tears  were  blinding  her.  "That  has  come  true,"  she 
thought. 

11 1  will  be  a  God  to  thee  and  to  thy  seed  after  thee." 

"  That  has  come  true  too  !"  she  said,  almost  in  surprise, — "  and 
mamma  believed  it  would." — And  then,  as  by  a  flash,  came  back 
to  her  mind  the  time  it  was  written ;  she  remembered  how  when 
it  was  done  her  mother's  head  had  sunk  upon  the  open  page ;  she 
seemed  to  see  again  the  thin  fingers  tightly  clasped ; — she  had  not 
understood  it  then;  she  did  now!  "She  was  praying  for  me," 
thought  Ellen, — "she  was  praying  for  me!  she  believed  that 
would  come  true." 

The  book  was  dashed  down,  and  Ellen  fell  upon  her  knees  in  a 
perfect  agony  of  weeping. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  353 

Even  this,  when  she  was  calm  again,  served  to  steady  her  mind. 
There  seemed  to  be  a  link  of  communion  between  her  mother  and 
her  that  was  wanting  before.  The  promise,  written  and  believed 
in  by  the  one,  realized  and  rejoiced  in  by  the  other,  was  a  dear 
something  in  common,  though  one  had  in  the  mean  while  removed 
to  heaven,  and  the  other  was  still  a  lingerer  on  the  earth.  Ellen 
bound  the  words  upon  her  heart. 

Another  time,  when  they  came  to  the  last  scene  of  Christian's 
journey,  Ellen's  tears  ran  very  fast.  John  asked  if  he  should 
pass  it  over?  if  it  distressed  her?  She  said,  oh,  no,  it  did  not 
distress  her;  she  wanted  him  to  go  on; — and  he  went  on,  though 
himself  much  distressed,  and  Alice  was  near  as  bad  as  Ellen.  But 
the  next  evening,  to  his  surprise,  Ellen  begged  that  before  he  went 
on  to  the  second  part  he  would  read  that  piece  over  again.  And 
when  he  lent  her  the  book,  with  only  the  charge  that  she  should 
not  go  further  than  he  had  been,  she  pored  over  that  scene  with 
untiring  pleasure  till  she  almost  had  it  by  heart.  In  short,  never 
was  a  child  more  comforted  and  contented  with  a  book  than  Ellen 
was  with  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress."  That  was  a  blessed  visit  of 
John's.  Alice  said  he  had  come  like  a  sunbeam  into  the  house  ;  she 
dreaded  to  think  what  would  be  when  he  went  away. 

She  wrote  him,  however,  when  he  had  been  gone  a  few  weeks, 
that  his  will  seemed  to  carry  all  before  it,  present  or  absent.  Ellen 
went  on  steadily  mending ;  at  least  she  did  not  go  back  any.  They 
were  keeping  up  their  rides,  also  their  studies,  most  diligently  ; 
Ellen  was  untiring  in  her  efforts  to  do  whatever  he  had  wished  her, 
and  was  springing  forward,  Alice  said,  in  her  improvement. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

I  keep  his  house,  and  I  wash,  wring,  brew,  bake,  scour,  dress  meat,  and  make 
the  beds,  and  do  all  myself. — SHAKSPEARE. 

THE  spring  had  come  ;  and  Alice  and  Ellen  were  looking  forward 
to  pleasanter  rides  and  walks  after  the  sun  should  have  got  a  little 
warmth  and  the  snow  should  be  gone ;  when  one  morning  in  the 
early  part  of  March  Mr.  Van  Brunt  made  his  appearance.  Miss 
Fortune  was  not  well,  and  had  sent  him  to  beg  that  Ellen  would 
come  back  to  her.  He  was  sorry,  he  said ; — he  knew  Ellen  was  in 
the  best  place;  but  her  aunt  wanted  her,  and  "he  s' posed  she'd 
have  to  go."  He  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  Miss 
Fortune;  it  was  a  little  of  one  thing  and  a  little  of  another ;  "he 
s' posed  she'd  overdid,  and  it  was  a  wonder,  for  he  didn't  know  she 
x  30* 


354  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

could  do  it.  She  thought  she  was  as  tough  as  a  piece  of  shoe- 
leather,  but  even  that  could  be  wore  out." 

Ellen  looked  blank.  However,  she  hurriedly  set  herself  to  get 
her  things  together,  and  with  Alice's  help  in  half  an  hour  she  was 
ready  to  go.  The  parting  was  hard.  They  held  each  other  fast  a 
good  while,  and  kissed  each  other  many  times  without  speaking. 

"  Good-by,  dear  Ellie,"  whispered  Alice  at  last, — "I'll  come 
and  see  you  soon.  Kemember  what  John  said  when  he  went 
away." 

Ellen  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak.  She  pulled  herself  away 
from  Alice,  and  turned  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  saying  by  her  manner 
that  she  was  ready ;  he  took  her  bundle  and  they  went  out  of  the 
house  together. 

Ellen  made  a  manful  effort  all  the  way  down  the  hill  to  stifle  the 
tears  that  were  choking  her.  She  knew  they  would  greatly  disturb 
her  companion,  and  she  did  succeed  though  with  great  difficulty  in 
keeping  them  back.  Luckily  for  her,  he  said  hardly  any  thing 
during  the  whole  walk  ;  she  could  not  have  borne  to  answer  a 
question.  It  was  no  fault  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  that  he  was  so 
silent ;  he  was  beating  his  brains  the  whole  way  to  think  of  some 
thing  it  would  do  to  say,  and  could  not  suit  himself.  His  single 
remark  was,  "  that  it  was  like  to  be  a  fine  spring  for  the  maple,  and 
he  guessed  they'd  make  a  heap  of  sugar." 

When  they  reached  the  door  he  told  her  she  would  find  her  aunt 
up  stairs,  and  himself  turned  off  to  the  barn.  Ellen  stopped  a 
minute  upon  the  threshold  to  remember  the  last  time  she  had 
crossed  it, — and  the  first  time ;  how  changed  every  thing  now  ! — 
and  the  thought  came,  was  this  now  to  be  her  home  for  ever  ?  She 
had  need  again  to  remember  John's  words.  When  bidding  her 
good-by  he  had  said,  "  My  little  pilgrim,  I  hope  you  will  keep  the 
straight  road,  and  win  the  praise  of  the  servant  who  was  faithful 
over  a  few  things."  "  I  will  try  !"  thought  poor  Ellen  ;  and  then 
she  passed  through  the  kitchen  and  went  up  to  her  own  room. 
Here,  without  stopping  to  think,  she  took  off  her  things,  gave  one 
strange  look  at  the  old  familiar  place  and  her  trunk  in  the  corner, 
fell  on  her  knees  for  one  minute,  and  then  went  to  her  aunt's 
room. 

"Come  in!"  cried  Miss  Fortune  when  Ellen  had  knocked. 
"  Well,  Ellen,  there  you  are.  I  am  thankful  it  is  you  ;  I  was 
afraid  it  might  be  Mirny  Lawson  or  Sarah  Lowndes,  or  some  of  the 
rest  of  the  set ;  I  know  they'll  all  come  scampering  here  as  soon  as 
they  hear  I'm  laid  up." 

"Are  you  very  sick,  aunt  Fortune?"  said  Ellen. 

"  La  !  no,  child ;  I  shall  be  up  again  to-morrow ;  but  I  felt  queer 
this  morning  somehow,  and  I  thought  I'd  try  lying  down.  I  ex 
pect  I've  caught  some  cold." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  355 

There  was  no  doubt  of  this,  but  this  was  not  all.  Besides  catch 
ing  cold,  and  doing  her  best  to  bring  it  about,  Miss  Fortune  had 
overtasked  her  strength ;  and  by  dint  of  economy,  housewifery, 
and  smartness,  had  brought  on  herself  the  severe  punishment  of 
lying  idle  and  helpless  for  a  much  longer  time  than  she  at  first 
reckoned  on. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  aunt  Fortune  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"Oh,  nothing,  as  I  know,"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "only  let  me 
alone  and  don't  ask  me  any  thing,  and  keep  people  out  of  the  house. 
Mercy  !  my  head  feels  as  if  it  would  go  crazy  !  Ellen,  look  here," 
said  she,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow, — "I  won't  have  any  body 
come  into  this  house, — if  I  lie  here  till  doomsday,  I  won't !  Now, 
you  mind  me.  I  ain't  a  going  to  have  Mirny  Lawson,  nor  nobody 
else,  poking  all  round  into  every  hole  and  corner,  and  turning 
every  cheese  upside  down  to  see  what's  under  it.  There  ain't  one 
of  'em  too  good  for  it,  and  they  shan't  have  a  chance.  They'll  be 
streaking  here,  a  dozen  of  'em,  to  help  take  care  of  the  house; 
but  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  the  house — I  won't  have  any 
body  in  it.  Promise  me  you  won't  let  Mr.  Van  Brunt  bring  any 
one  here  to  help ;  I  know  I  can  trust  you  to  do  what  I  tell  you ; 
promise  me !" 

Ellen  promised,  a  good  deal  gratified  at  her  aunt's  last  words; 
and  once  more  asked  if  she  could  do  any  thing  for  her. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !"  said  Miss  Fortune,  flinging  herself  back 
on  her  pillow ; — "  I  don't  care  what  you  do,  if  you  only  keep  the 
house  clear.  There's  the  clothes  in  the  basket  under  the  table 
downstairs — you  might  begin  to  iron  'em;  they're  only  rough 
dry.  But  don't  come  asking  me  about  any  thing  ;  I  can't  bear  it. 
— Ellen,  don't  let  a  soul  go  into  the  buttery  except  yourself. — And 
Ellen  !  I  don't  care  if  you  make  me  a  little  catnip  tea ; — the  cat 
nip's  up  in  the  store-room, — the  furthest  door  in  the  back  attic — 
here's  the  keys.  Don't  go  fussing  with  any  thing  else  there." 

Ellen  thought  the  prospect  before  her  rather  doleful  when  she 
reached  the  kitchen.  It  was  in  order,  to  be  sure,  and  clean ;  but 
it  looked  as  if  the  mistress  was  away.  The  fire  had  gone  out,  the 
room  was  cold  ;  even  so  little  a  matter  as  catnip  tea  seemed  a  thing 
far  off  and  hard  to  come  by.  While  she  stood  looking  at  the  great 
logs  in  the  fireplace,  which  she  could  hardly  move,  and  thinking  it 
was  rather  a  dismal  state  of  things,  in  came  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with 
his  good-natured  face,  and  wanted  to  know  if  he  could  do  anything 
for  her.  The  very  room  seemed  more  comfortable  as  soon  as  his 
big  figure  was  in  it.  He  set  about  kindling  the  fire  forthwith, 
while  Ellen  went  up  to  the  store-room.  A  well-filled  store-room  ! 
Among  other  things,  there  hung  at  least  a  dozen  bunches  of  dried 
herbs  from  one  of  the  rafters.  Ellen  thought  she  knew  catnip, 
but  after  smelling  of  two  or  three  she  became  utterly  puzzled  and 


356  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

was  fain  to  carry  a  leaf  of  several  kinds  down  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
to  find  out  which  was  which.  When  she  caine  down  again  she 
found  he  had  hung  on  the  kettle  for  her,  and  swept  up  the  hearth  ; 
so  Ellen,  wisely  thinking  it  best  to  keep  busy,  put  the  ironing 
blanket  on  the  table,  and  folded  the  clothes,  and  set  the  irons  to 
the  fire.  By  this  time  the  kettle  boiled.  How  to  make  catnip  tea 
Ellen  did  not  exactly  know,  but  supposed  it  must  follow  the  same 
rules  as  black  tea,  in  the  making  of  which  she  felt  herself  very 
much  at  home.  So  she  put  a  pinch  or  two  of  catnip  leaves  into 
the  pot,  poured  a  little  water  on  them,  and  left  it  to  draw.  Mean 
while  came  in  kind  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with  an  armful  or  two  of  small 
short  sticks  for  the  fire,  which  Ellen  could  manage. 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  here  and  take  care  of  you  all  the  while," 
said  he  ;  "  but  I'll  be  round.  If  you  want  any  thing  you  must 
come  to  the  door  and  holler." 

Ellen  began  to  thank  him. 

"  Just  don't  say  any  thing  about  that,"  said  he,  moving  his 
hands  as  if  he  were  shaking  her  thanks  out  of  them  ;  "I'd  back 
all  the  wood  you  could  burn  every  day  for  the  pleasure  of  having 
you  hum  again,  if  I  didn't  know  you  was  better  where  you  was; 
but  I  can't  help  that.  Now,  who  am  I  going  to  get  to  stay  with 
you  ?  Who  would  you  like  to  have." 

"  Nobody,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen;  "aunt 
Fortune  don't  wish  it,  and  I  had  rather  not,  indeed." 

He  stood  up  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "  that  you  are  thinking, 
or  she  is  thinking,  you  can  get  along  here  alone  without  help  ?" 

"I'll  get  along  somehow,"  said  Ellen.  "  Never  mind,  please  let 
me,  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  it  would  worry  aunt  Fortune  very  much  to 
have  any  body ;  don't  say  any  thing  about  it." 

"Worry  her!''  said  he;  and  he  muttered  something  Ellen  did 
not  quite  understand,  about  "  bringing  the  old  woman  to  reason." 

However  he  went  off  for  the  present ;  and  Ellen  filled  up  her 
tea-pot  and  carried  it  up  stairs.  Her  old  grandmother  was  awake  ; 
before,  when  Ellen  was  in  the  room,  she  had  been  napping ;  now 
she  showed  the  greatest  delight  at  seeing  her ;  fondled  her,  kissed 
her,  cried  over  her,  and  finally  insisted  on  getting  up  directly 
and  going  down  stairs.  Ellen  received  and  returned  her  caresses 
with  great  tenderness,  and  then  began  to  help  her  to  rise  and 
dress. 

"Yes,  do,"  said  Miss  Fortune;  "I  shall  have  a  little  better 
chance  of  sleeping.  My  stars!  Ellen,  what  do  you  call  this?" 

"  Isn't  it  catnip?"  said  Ellen,  alarmed. 

"Catnip!  it  tastes  of  nothing  but  the  teakettle.  It's  as  weak 
as  dish-water.  Take  it  down  and  make  some  more.  How  much 
did  you  put  in  ?  you  want  a  good  double  handful,  stalks  and  all ; 


VH.E    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  357 

make  it  strong.     I  can't  drink  such  stuff  as  that.     I  think  if  I 
could  get  into  a  sweat  I  should  be  better." 

Ellen  went  down,  established  her  grandmother  in  her  old  corner, 
and  made  some  more  tea.  Then,  her  irons  being  hot,  she  began 
to  iron  ;  doing  double  duty  at  the  same  time,  for  Mrs.  Montgomery 
had  one  of  her  talking  fits  on,  and  it  was  necessary  to  hear  and 
answer  a  great  many  things.  Presently  the  first  visitor  appeared 
in  the  shape  of  Nancy. 

"  Well,  Ellen  !"  said  she;  "  so  Miss  Fortune  is  really  sick  for 
once,  and  you  are  keeping  house.  Ain't  you  grand  !" 

"  I  don't  feel  very  grand,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  don't  know  what  is 
the  matter  with  these  clothes ;  I  cannot  make  'em  look  smooth." 

"  Irons  ain't  hot,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Yes  they  are,  too  hot.     I've  scorched  a  towel  already." 

"  My  goodness,  Ellen  !  I  guess  you  have.  If  Miss  Fortune  was 
down  you'd  get  it.  Why,  they're  bone  dry  !"  said  Nancy,  plunging 
her  hand  into  the  basket ; — "  you  haven't  sprinkled  'em,  have  you  ?" 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Ellen,  with  an  awakened  face,  "  I  forgot 
it!" 

"  Here,  get  out  of  the  way,  I'll  do  it  for  you,"  said  Nancy, 
rolling  up  her  sleeves  and  pushing  Ellen  from  the  table ;  "  you  just 
get  me  a  bowl  of  water,  will  you?  and  we'll  have  'em  done  in  no 
time.  Who's  a  coming  to  help  you?" 

"Nobody." 

"  Nobody  ! — you  poor  chicken  ;  do  you  think  you're  a  going  to 
do  all  the  work  of  the  house  yourself?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  I  can  do  a  good  deal,  and  the  rest  will 
have  to  go." 

"  You  ain't  going  to  do  no  such  thing ;  I'll  stay  myself." 

"  No  you  can't,  Nancy,"  said  Ellen,  quietly. 

"  I  guess  I  will  if  I've  a  mind  to.  I  should  like  to  know  how 
you'd  help  it;  Miss  Fortune's  abed." 

"I  could  help  it  though,"  said  Ellen;  "but  I  am  sure  you 
won't  when  I  ask  you  not." 

"  I'll  do  any  thing  you  please,"  said  Nancy,  "  if  you'll  get  Miss 
Fortune  to  let  me  stay.  Come  do,  Ellen  !  It  will  be  splendid  ;  and 
I'll  help  you  finely,  and  I  won't  bother  you  neither.  Come!  go 
ask  her;  if  you  don't  I  will." 

"  I  can't,  Nancy  ;  she  don't  want  any  body ;  and  it  worries  her 
to  talk  to  her.  I  can't  go  and  ask  her." 

Nancy  impatiently  flung  down  the  cloth  she  was  sprinkling  and 
ran  up  stairs.  In  a  few  minutes  she  came  down  with  a  triumphant 
face  and  bade  Ellen  go  up  to  her  aunt. 

"  Ellen,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  if  I  let  Nancy  stay  will  you  take 
care  of  the  keys,  and  keep  her  out  of  the  buttery  ?" 

"  I'll  try  to,  ma'am,  as  well  as  I  can." 


358 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


"  I  'd  as  lief  have  her  as  any  body,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  if 
she'd  behave ; — she  was  with  me  a  little  in  the  winter ;  she  is 
smart  and  knows  the  ways; — if  I  was  sure  she  would  behave  her 
self,  but  I  am  afraid  she  will  go  rampaging  about  the  house  like 
a  wild  cat." 

"I  think  I  could  prevent  that,"  said  Ellen,  who,  to  say  truth, 
was  willing  to  have  any  body  come  to  share  what  she  felt  would 


be  a  very  great  burden.     "  She  knows  I  could  tell  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
if  she  didn't  do  right,  and  she  would  be  afraid  of  that." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  disconsolately,  "let  her  stay  then. 
Oh,  dear,  to  lie  here  !  but  tell  her  if  she  don't  do  just  what  you  tell 
her,  I'll  have  Mr.  Van  Brunt  turn  her  out  by  the  ears.  And  don't 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD  359 

let  her  come  near  me,  for  she  drives  me  mad.  And,  Ellen  !  put 
the  keys  in  your  pocket.  Have  you  got  a  pocket  in  that 
dress?" 

"Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Put  'em  in  there  and  don't  take  'em  out.     Now  go." 

Nancy  agreed  to  the  conditions  with  great  glee ;  and  the  little 
housekeeper  felt  her  mind  a  good  deal  easier ;  for  though  Nancy 
herself  was  somewhat  of  a  charge,  she  was  strong  and  willing  and 
ready,  and  if  she  liked  any  body  liked  Ellen.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  pri 
vately  asked  Ellen  if  she  chose  to  have  Nancy  stay ;  and  told  her 
if  she  gave  her  any  trouble  to  let  him  know,  and  he  would  make 
short  work  with  her.  The  young  lady  herself  also  had  a  hint  on 
the  subject. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Nancy,  when  this  business  was  settled, 
— "  we'll  let  the  men  go  off  to  Miss  Van  Brunt's  to  meals  ;  we'll 
have  enough  to  do  without  'em.  That's  how  Miss  Fortune  has 
fixed  herself, — she  would  have  Sam  and  Johnny  in  to  board  ;  they 
never  used  to,  you  know,  afore  this  winter." 

"  The  men  may  go,"  said  Ellen,  "but  I  had  a  great  deal  rather 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  stay  than  not, — if  we  can  only  manage  to 
cook  things  for  him ;  we  should  have  to  do  it  at  any  rate  for 
ourselves,  and  for  grandma." 

«  Well — /ain't  as  fond  of  him  as  all  that,"  said  Nancy,  "  but  it'll 
have  to  be  as  you  like  I  suppose.  We'll  feed  him  somehow." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  in  to  ask  if  they  had  any  thing  in  the 
house  for  supper.  Ellen  told  him  "plenty,"  and  would  have  him 
come  in  just  as  usual.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  make  tea  ; 
cold  meat  and  bread  and  butter  and  cheese  were  all  in  the  buttery ; 
so  that  evening  went  off  very  quietly. 

When  she  came  down  the  next  morning  the  fire  was  burning 
nicely,  and  the  kettle  on  and  singing.  Not  Nancy's  work ;  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  had  slept  in  the  kitchen,  whether  on  the  table,  the 
floor,  or  the  chairs,  was  best  known  to  himself ;  and  before  going 
to  his  work  had  left  every  thing  he  could  think  of  ready  done  to 
her  hand ;  wood  for  the  fire,  pails  of  water  brought  from  the 
spout,  and  some  matters  in  the  lower  kitchen  got  out  of  the  way. 
Ellen  stood  warming  herself  at  the  blaze,  when  it  suddenly  darted 
into  her  head  that  it  was  milking  time.  In  another  minute  she 
had  thrown  open  the  door  and  was  running  across  the  chip-yard  to 
the  barn.  There,  in  the  old  place,  were  all  her  old  friends,  both 
four-legged  and  two-legged ;  and  with  great  delight  she  found 
Dolly  had  a  fine  calf  and  Streaky  another  superb  one,  brindled  just 
like  herself.  Ellen  longed  to  get  near  enough  to  touch  their  little 
innocent  heads,  but  it  was  impossible ;  and  recollecting  the  busi 
ness  on  her  hands  she  too  danced  away. 

"  Whew !"  said  Nancy,  when  Ellen  told  her  of  the  new  inmates 


360  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

of  the  barn-yard ;— "  there'll  be  work  to  do  !  Get  your  milk-pans 
ready,  Ellen; — in  a  couple  of  weeks  we'll  be  making  butter." 

"  Aunt  Fortune  will  be  well  by  that  time,  I  hope,"  said  Ellen. 

"  She  won't  then,  so  you  may  just  make  up  your  mind  to  it. 
Dr.  Gibson  was  to  see  her  yesterday  forenoon,  and  he  stopped  at 
Miss  Lowndes  on  his  way  back ;  and  he  said  it  was  a  chance  if  she 
got  up  again  in  a  month  and  more.  So  that's  what  it  is,  you  see." 

11  A  month  and  more."  It  was  all  that.  Miss  Fortune  was  not 
dangerously  ill ;  but  part  of  the  time  in  a  low  nervous  fever,  part 
of  the  time  encumbered  with  other  ailments,  she  lay  from  week  to 
v  week  j  bearing  her  confinement  as  ill  as  possible,  and  making  it  as 
disagreeable  and  burdensome  as  possible  for  Ellen  to  attend  upon 
her.  Those  were  weeks  of  trial.  Ellen's  patience  and  principle 
and  temper  were  all  put  to  the  proof.  She  had  no  love,  in  the  first 
place,  for  household  work,  and  now  her  whole  time  was  filled  up 
with  it.  Studies  could  not  be  thought  of.  Reading  was  only  to 
be  had  by  mere  snatches.  Walks  and  rides  were  at  an  end.  Often 
when  already  very  tired  she  had  to  run  up  and  down  stairs  for  her 
aunt,  or  stand  and  bathe  her  face  and  hands  with  vinegar,  or  read 
the  paper  to  her  when  Miss  'Fortune  declared  she  was  so  nervous 
she  should  fly  out  of  her  skin  if  she  didn't  hear  something  besides 
the  wind.  And  very  often  when  she  was  not  wanted  up  stairs,  her 
old  grandmother  would  beg  her  to  come  and  read  to  her, — perhaps 
at  the  very  moment  when  Ellen  was  busiest.  Ellen  did  her  best. 
Miss  Fortune  never  could  be  put  off;  her  old  mother  sometimes 
could,  with  a  kiss  and  a  promise  ;  but  not  always ;  and  then,  rather 
than  she  should  fret,  Ellen  would  leave  every  thing  and  give  half 
an  hour  to  soothing  and  satisfying  her.  She  loved  to  do  this  at 
other  times ;  now  it  was  sometimes  burdensome.  Nancy  could  not 
help  her  at  all  in  these  matters,  for  neither  Miss  Fortune  nor  the 
old  lady  would  let  her  come  near  them.  Besides  all  this  there  was 
a  measure  of  care  constantly  upon  Ellen's  mind ;  she  felt  charged 
with  the  welfare  of  all  about  the  house ;  and  under  the  effort  to 
meet  the  charge,  joined  to  the  unceasing  bodily  exertion,  she  grew 
thin  and  pale.  She  was  tired  with  Nancy's  talk  ;  she  longed  to  be 
reading  and  studying  again ;  she  longed,  oh,  how  she  longed !  for 
Alice's  and  John's  company  again;  and  it  was  no  wonder  if  she 
sometimes  cast  very  sad  longing  looks  further  back  still.  Now  and 
then  an  old  fit  of  weeping  would  come.  But  Ellen  remembered 
John' s  words  ;  and  often  in  the  midst  of  her  work,  stopping  short 
with  a  sort  of  pang  of  sorrow  and  weariness,  and  the  difficulty  of 
doing  right,  she  would  press  her  hands  together  and  say  to  herself, 
"  I  will  try  to  be  a  good  pilgrim  !"  Her  morning  hour  of  prayer 
was  very  precious  now ;  and  her  Bible  grew  more  and  more  dear. 
Little  Ellen  found  its  words  a  mighty  refreshment ;  and  often  when 
reading  it  she  loved  to  recall  what  Alice  had  said  at  this  and  the 


THE    WIDE,  WIDE    WORLD.  361 

other  place,  and  John,  and  Mr.  Marshman,  and  before  them  her 
mother.  The  passages  about  heaven,  which  she  well  remembered 
reading  to  her  one  particular  morning,  became  great  favourites ; 
they  were  joined  with  her  mother  in  Ellen's  thoughts;  and  she 
used  to  go  over  them  till  she  nearly  knew  them  by  heart. 

"What  do  you  keep  reading  that  for,  the  whole  time?"  said 
Nancy  one  day. 

"  Because  I  like  to,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  if  you  do,  you're  the  first  one  ever  I  saw  that  did." 

"  Oh,  Nancy  !"  said  Ellen  ; — "  your  grandma  ?" 

"Well  she  does  I  believe,"  said  Nancy, — "  for  she's  always  at 
it ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  folks  that  ever  I  saw  are  happy  to  get  it 
out  of  their  hands,  /  know.  They  think  they  must  read  a  little, 
and  so  they  do,  and  they  are  too  glad  if  something  happens  to 
break  'em  off.  You  needn't  tell  me;  I've  seen  'em." 

"  I  wish  you  loved  it,  Nancy,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  love  it  for  ?  come,  let's  hear  ;  maybe  you'll 
convert  me." 

"  I  love  it  for  a  great  many  reasons,"  said  Ellen,  who  had  some 
difficulty  in  speaking  of  what  she  felt  Nancy  could  not  understand. 

"  Well — I  ain't  any  wiser  yet." 

"  I  like  to  read  it  because  I  want  to  go  to  heaven,  and  it  tells 
me  how." 

"  But  what's  the  use  ?"  said  Nancy  ; — "  you  ain't  going  to  die 
yet;  you  are  too  young;  you've  time  enough." 

"  Oh,  Nancy  ! — little  John  Dolan,  and  Eleanor  Parsons,  and 
Mary  Huff, — all  younger  than  you  and  I ;  how  can  you  say  so  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Nancy, — "at  any  rate,  that  ain't  reading  it 
because  you  love  it; — it's  because  you  must,  like  other  folks." 

"That's  only  one  of  my  reasons,"  said  Ellen,  hesitating  and 
speaking  gravely  ; — "  I  like  to  read  about  the  Saviour,  and  what  he 
has  done  for  me,  and  what  a  friend  he  will  be  to  me,  and  how  he 
forgives  me.  I  had  rather  have  the  Bible,  Nancy,  than  all  the 
other  books  in  the  world." 

"That  ain't  saying  much,"  said  Nancy  ; — "but  how  come  you 
to  be  so  sure  you  are  forgiven  ?" 

"  Because  the  Bible  says,  '  He  that  believeth  on  him  shall  not 
be  ashamed,'  and  I  believe  in  him  ; — and  that  he  will  not  cast  out 
any  one  that  comes  to  him,  and  I  have  come  to  him  ; — and  that  he 
loves  those  that  love  him,  and  I  love  him.  If  it  did  not  speak  so 
very  plainly  I  should  be  afraid,  but  it  makes  me  happy  to  read  such 
verses  as  these.  I  wish  you  knew,  Nancy,  how  happy  it  makes 
me." 

This  profession  of  faith  was  not  spoken  without  starting  tears. 
Nancy  made  no  reply. 

As  Miss  Fortune  had  foretold,  plenty  of  people  came  to  the 
Q  31 


362  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

house  with  proffers  of  service.  Nancy's  being  there  made  it  easy 
for  Ellen  to  get  rid  of  them  all.  Many  were  the  marvels  that 
Miss  Fortune  should  trust  her  house  "  to  two  girls  like  that,"  and 
many  the  guesses  that  she  would  rue  it  when  she  got  up  again. 
People  were  wrong.  Things  went  on  very  steadily  and  in  an 
orderly  manner ;  and  Nancy  kept  the  peace  as  she  would  have  done 
in  few  houses.  Bold  and  insolent  as  she  sometimes  was  to  others, 
she  regarded  Ellen  with  a  mixed  notion  of  respect  and  protection, 
which  led  her  at  once  to  shun  doing  any  thing  that  would  grieve 
her,  and  to  thrust  her  aside  from  every  heavy  or  difficult  job,  taking 
the  brunt  herself.  Nancy  might  well  do  this,  for  she  was  at  least 
twice  as  strong  as  Ellen ;  but  she  would  not  have  done  it  for  every 
body. 

There  were  visits  of  kindness  as  well  as  visits  of  officiousness. 
Alice  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  and  Margery,  one  or  the  other  every 
day.  Margery  would  come  in  and  mix  up  a  batch  of  bread  ;  Alice 
would  bring  a  bowl  of  butter,  or  a  basket  of  cake ;  and  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt  sent  whole  dinners.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  there  always  at 
night,  and  about  the  place  as  much  as  possible  during  the  day ; 
when  obliged  to  be  absent,  he  stationed  Sam  Larkens  to  guard  the 
house,  also  to  bring  wood  and  water,  and  do  whatever  he  was  bid. 
All  the  help,  however,  that  was  given  from  abroad  could  not  make 
Ellen's  life  an  easy  one;  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  wishes  that  Miss  Fort 
une  would  get  up  again  began  to  come  very  often.  The  history 
of  one  day  may  serve  for  the  history  of  all  those  weeks. 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  April.  Ellen  came  down  stairs  early, 
but  come  when  she  would  she  found  the  fire  made  and  the  kettle 
on.  Ellen  felt  a  little  as  if  she  had  not  quite  slept  off  the  remem 
brance  of  yesterday's  fatigue;  however,  that  was  no  matter;  she 
set  to  work.  She  swept  up  the  kitchen,  got  her  milk  strainer  and 
pans  ready  upon  the  buttery  shelf,  and  began  to  set  the  table.  By 
the  time  this  was  half  done,  in  came  Sam  Larkens  with  two  great 
pails  of  milk,  and  Johnny  Low  followed  with  another.  They  were 
much  too  heavy  for  Ellen  to  lift,  but  true  to  her  charge  she  let  no 
one  come  into  the  buttery  but  herself;  she  brought  the  pans  to  the 
door,  where  Sam  filled  them  for  her,  and  as  each  was  done  she  set 
it  in  its  place  on  the  shelf.  This  took  some  time,  for  there  were 
eight  of  them.  She  had  scarce  wiped  up  the  spilt  milk  and  finished 
setting  the  table  when  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  in. 

"  Good-morning  !"  said  he.     "  How  d'ye  do  to-day  ?" 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

"  I  wish  you'd  look  a  little  redder  in  the  face.  Don't  you  be  too 
busy?  Where's  Nancy?" 

"Oh,  she's  busy,  out  with  the  clothes." 

"  Same  as  ever  up  stairs  ? — What  are  you  going  to  do  for  break 
fast,  Ellen  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  363 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  there  isn't  anything  cooked  in 
the  house ;  we  have  eaten  every  thing  up." 

"  Cleaned  out,  eh  ?     Bread  and  all  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  not  bread;  there's  plenty  of  that,  but  there's  nothing 
else." 

"  Well  never  mind  ; — you  bring  me  a  ham  and  a  dozen  of  eggs, 
and  I'll  make  you  a  first-rate  breakfast." 

Ellen  laughed,  for  this  was  not  the  first  time  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had 
acted  as  cook  for  the  family.  While  she  got  what  he  had  asked 
for,  and  bared  a  place  on  the  table  for  his  operations,  he  went  to 
the  spout  and  washed  his  hands. 

"  Now  a  sharp  knife,  Ellen,  and  the  frying-pan,  and  a  dish, — 
and  that's  all  I  want  of  you." 

Ellen  brought  them,  and  while  he  was  busy  with  the  ham  she 
made  the  coffee  and  set  it  by  the  side  of  the  fire  to  boil ;  got  the 
cream  and  butter,  and  set  the  bread  on  the  table ;  and  then  set 
herself  down  to  rest,  and  amuse  herself  with  Mr.  Van  Brunt's 
cookery.  He  was  no  mean  hand ;  his  slices  of  ham  were  very 
artist-like,  and  frying  away  in  the  most  unexceptionable  manner. 
Ellen  watched  him  and  laughed  at  him,  till  the  ham  was  taken  out 
and  all  the  eggs  broke  in ;  then  after  seeing  that  the  coffee  was 
right  she  went  up  stairs  to  dress  her  grandmother — always  the  last 
thing  before  breakfast. 

"  Who's  frying  ham  and  eggs  down  stairs  ?"  inquired  Miss 
Fortune. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen. 

This  answer  was  unexpected.  Miss  Fortune  tossed  her  head 
over  in  a  dissatisfied  kind  of  way,  and  told  Ellen  to  "  tell  him  to 
be  careful." 

"  Of  what?"  thought  Ellen  ;  and  wisely  concluded  with  herself 
not  to  deliver  the  message ;  very  certain  she  should  laugh  if  she 
did,  and  she  had  running  in  her  head  an  indistinct  notion  of  the 
command,  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother." 

Breakfast  was  ready  but  no  one  there  when  she  got  down  stairs. 
She  placed  her  grandmother  at  table,  and  called  Nancy,  who  all 
this  time  had  been  getting  the  clothes  out  of  the  rinsing  water  and 
hanging  them  out  on  the  line  to  dry ;  said  clothes  having  been 
washed  the  day  before  by  Miss  Sarah  Lowndes,  who  came  there 
for  the  purpose.  Ellen  poured  out  the  coffee,  and  then  in  came 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  with  a  head  of  early  lettuce  which  he  had  pulled 
in  the  garden  and  washed  at  the  spout.  Ellen  had  to  jump  up 
again  to  get  the  salt  and  pepper  and  vinegar;  but  she  always 
jumped  willingly  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  The  meals  were  pleasanter 
during  those  weeks  than  in  all  the  time  Ellen  had  been  in  Thirlwall 
before ;  or  she  thought  so.  That  sharp  eye  at  the  head  of  the 
table  was  pleasantly  missed.  They  with  one  accord  sat  longer  at 


364  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

meals  ;  more  talking  and  laughing  went  on  ;  nobody  felt  afraid  of 
being  snapped  up.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  praised  Ellen's  coffee  (he  had 
taught  her  how  to  make  it),  and  she  praised  his  ham  and  eggs. 
Old  Mrs.  Montgomery  praised  every  thing,  and  seemed  to  be  in 
particular  comfort ;  talked  as  much  as  she  had  a  mind,  and  was  re 
spectfully  attended  to.  Nancy  was  in  high  feather;  and  the 
clatter  of  knives  and  forks  and  tea-cups  went  on  very  pleasantly. 
But  at  last  chairs  were  pushed  from  the  table,  and  work  began 
again. 

Nancy  went  back  to  her  tubs.  Ellen  supplied  her  grandmother 
with  her  knitting  and  filled  her  snuff-box ;  cleared  the  table  and 
put  up  the  dishes  ready  for  washing.  Then  she  went  into  the 
buttery  to  skim  the  cream.  This  was  a  part  of  the  work  she 
liked.  It  was  heavy  lifting  the  pans  of  milk  to  the  skimming 
shelf  before  the  window,  but  as  Ellen  drew  her  spoon  round  the 
.edge  of  the  cream  she  liked  to  see  it  wrinkle  up  in  thick  yellow 
leathery  folds,  showing  how  deep  and  rich  it  was  ;  it  looked  half 
butter  already.  She  knew  how  to  take  it  off  now  very  nicely. 
The  cream  was  set  by  in  a  vessel  for  future  churning,  and  the 
milk,  as  each  pan  was  skimmed,  was  poured  down  the  wooden 
trough  at  the  left  of  the  window  through  which  it  went  into  a  great 
hogshead  at  the  lower  kitchen  door. 

This  done  Ellen  went  up  stairs  to  her  aunt.  Dr.  Gibson  always 
came  early,  and  she  and  her  room  must  be  put  in  apple-pie  order 
first.  It  was  a  long  wearisome  job.  Ellen  brought  the  basin  for 
her  to  wash  her  face  and  hands ;  then  combed  her  hair  and  put  on 
her  clean  cap.  That  was  always  the  first  thing.  The  next  was  to 
make  the  bed ;  and  for  this,  Miss  Fortune,  weak  or  strong, 
wrapped  herself  up  and  tumbled  out  upon  the  floor.  When  she 
was  comfortably  placed  again,  Ellen  had  to  go  through  a  laborious 
dusting  of  the  room  and  all  the  things  in  it,  even  taking  a  dust 
pan  and  brush  to  the  floor  if  any  speck  of  dust  or  crumbs  could 
be  seen  there.  Every  rung  of  every  chair  must  be  gone  over, 
though  ever  so  clean  ;  every  article  put  up  or  put  out  of  the  way  ; 
Miss  Fortune  made  the  most  of  the  little  province  of  housekeep 
ing  that  was  left  her ;  and  a  fluttering  tape  escaping  through  the 
crack  of  the  door  would  have  put  her  whole  spirit  topsy-turvy. 
When  all  was  to  her  mind,  and  not  before,  she  would  have  her 
breakfast.  Only  gruel  and  biscuit,  or  toast  and  tea,  or  some  such 
trifle,  but  Ellen  must  prepare  it  and  bring  it  up  stairs,  and  wait 
till  it  was  eaten.  And  very  particularly  it  must  be  prepared,  and 
very  faultlessly  it  must  be  served,  or  with  an  impatient  expression 
of  disgust  Miss  Fortune  would  send  it  down  again.  On  the  whole 
Ellen  always  thought  herself  happy  when  this  part  of  her  day  was 
well  over. 

When  she  got  down  this  morning  she  found  the  kitchen  in  nice 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  365 

order,  and  Nancy  standing  by  the  fire  in  a  little  sort  of  pause, 
having  just  done  the  breakfast  dishes. 

"  Well  !"  said  Nancy, — "  what  are  you  going  to  -do  now?" 

"  Put  away  these  dishes,  and  then  churn,"  said  Ellen. 

"  My  goodness !  so  you  are.  What's  going  to  be  for  dinner, 
Ellen?" 

"That's  more  than  I  know,"  said  Ellen  laughing.  "We  have 
eaten  up  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  pie  and  washed  the  dish; — there's 
nothing  but  some  cold  potatoes." 

"  That  won't  do,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  tell  you  what,  Ellen,— we'll 
just  boil  pot  for  to-day  ;  somebody  else  will  send  us  something  by 
to-morrow  most  likely." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  *  boil  pot,'  "  said  Ellen. 

11  Oh,  you  don't  know  every  thing  yet,  by  half.  /  know — I'll 
fix  it.  You  just  give  me  the  things,  Miss  Housekeeper,  that's  all 
you've  got  to  do  ;  I  want  a  piece  of  pork  and  a  piece  of  beef,  and 
all  the  vegetables  you've  got." 

"  All  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Every  soul  on  'em.  Don't  be  scared,  Ellen  !  you  shall  see 
what  I  can  do  in  the  way  of  cookery;  if  you  don't  like  it  you 
needn't  eat  it.  What  have  you  got  in  the  cellar  ?" 

"  Come  and  see,  and  take  what  you  want,  Nancy  ;  there  is 
plenty  of  potatoes  and  carrots  and  onions,  and  beets  I  believe ;  the 
turnips  are  all  gone." 

"  Parsnips  out  in  the  yard,  ain't  there  ?" 

"Yes,  but  you'll  have  to  do  with  a  piece  of  pork,  Nancy,  I 
don't  know  any  thing  about  beef." 

While  Nancy  went  round  the  cellar  gathering  in  her  apron  the 
various  roots  she  wanted,  Ellen  uncovered  the  pork  barrel,  and 
after  looking  a  minute  at  the  dark  pickle  she  never  loved  to  plunge 
into,  bravely  bared  her  arm  and  fished  up  a  piece  of  pork. 

"  Now,  Nancy,  just  help  me  with  this  churn  out  of  the  cellar, 
will  you?  and  then  you  may  go." 

"  My  goodness  !  it  is  heavy,"  said  Nancy.  "  You'll  have  a  time 
of  it,  Ellen  ;  but  I  can't  help  you." 

She  went  off  to  the  garden  for  parsnips,  and  Ellen  quietly  put 
in  the  dasher  and  the  cover,  and  began  to  churn.  It  was  tiresome 
work.  The  churn  was  pretty  full,  as  Nancy  had  said  ;  the  cream 
was  rich  and  cold,  and  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour  grew  very  stiff. 
It  spattered  and  sputtered  up  on  Ellen's  face  and  hands  and  apron, 
and  over  the  floor ;  legs  and  arms  were  both  weary  ;  but  still  that 
pitiless  dasher  must  go  up  and  down,  hard  as  it  might  be  to  force 
it  either  way ;  she  must  not  stop.  In  this  state  of  matters  she 
heard  a  pair  of  thick  shoes  come  clumping  down  the  stairs,  and 
beheld  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  Here  you  are  !"  said  he.     "  Churning  ! — Been  long  at  it  ?" 

31* 


366  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  A  good  while,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  sigh. 

"Coming?" 

"  I  don't  know  when." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  stepped  to  the  door  and  shouted  for  Sam 
Larkens.  He  was  ordered  to  take  the  churn  and  bring  the  butter ; 
and  Ellen,  very  glad  of  a  rest,  went  out  to  amuse  herself  with 
feeding  the  chickens,  and  then  up  stairs  to  see  what  Nancy  was 
doing. 

"  Butter  come  ?"  said  Nancy. 

"  No,  Sam  has  taken  it.  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  Oh,  I  am 
tired!" 

"  I'm  getting  on  first-rate  ;  I've  got  all  the  things  in." 

"In  what?" 

"  Why,  in  the  pot ! — in  a  pot  of  water,  boiling  away  as  fast  as 
they  can  ;  we'll  have  dinner  directly.  Hurra  !  who  comes  there?" 

She  jumped  to  the  door.  It  was  Thomas,  bringing  Margery's 
respects,  and  a  custard-pie  for  Ellen. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Nancy,  u  it's  a  good  thing  to  have  friends,  ain't 
it?  I'll  try  and  get  some. — Hollo?  what's  wanting? — Mr.  Van 
Brunt's  calling  you,  Ellen." 

Ellen  ran  down. 

"  The  butter's  come,"  said  he.  "  Now  do  you  know  what  to  do 
with  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Ellen  smiling;   "  Margery  showed  me  nicely." 

He  brought  her  a  pail  of  water  from  the  spout,  and  stood  by 
with  a  pleased  kind  of  look,  while  she  carefully  lifted  the  cover 
and  rinsed  down  the  little  bits  of  butter  which  stuck  to  it  and  the 
dasher ;  took  out  the  butter  with  her  ladle  into  a  large  wooden 
bowl,  washed  it,  and  finally  salted  it. 

"  Don't  take  too  much  pains,"  said  he  ; — "  the  less  of  the  hand 
it  gets  the  better.  That  will  do  very  well." 

"  Now  are  you  ready?"  said  Nancy,  coming  down  stairs,  "  'cause 
dinner  is.  My  goodness  !  ain't  that  a  fine  lot  of  butter?  there's 
four  pounds,  ain't  there  ?" 

"  Five,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  And  as  sweet  as  it  can  be,"  said  Ellen.  "  Beautiful,  isn't  it? 
Yes,  I'm  ready,  as  soon  as  I  set  this  in  the  cellar  and  cover  it  up." 

Nancy's  dish, — the  pork,  potatoes,  carrots,  beets,  and  cabbage, 
all  boiled  in  the  same  pot  together, — was  found  very  much  to  every 
body's  taste  except  Ellen's.  She  made  her  dinner  off  potatoes  and 
bread,  the  former  of  which  she  declared,  laughing,  were  very 
porky  and  cabbagy ;  her  meal  would  have  been  an  extremely  light 
one,  had  it  not  been  for  the  custard-pie. 

After  dinner  new  labours  began.  Nancy  had  forgotten  to  hang 
on  a  pot  of  water  for  the  dishes ;  so  after  putting  away  the  eata 
bles  in  the  buttery,  while  the  water  was  heating,  Ellen  warmed 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  367 

some  gruel  and  carried  it  with  a  plate  of  biscuit  up  stairs  to  her 
aunt.  But  Miss  Fortune  said  she  was  tired  of  gruel  and  couldn't 
eat  it ;  she  must  have  some  milk  porridge  ;  and  she  gave  Ellen 
very  particular  directions  how  to  make  it.  Ellen  sighed  only  once 
as  she  went  down  with  her  despised  dish  of  gruel,  and  set  about 
doing  her  best  to  fulfil  her  aunt's  wishes.  The  first  dish  of  milk 
she  burnt ; — another  sigh  and  another  trial ; — better  care  this  time 
had  better  success,  and  Ellen  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  her  aunt 
perfectly  suited  with  her  dinner. 

When  she  came  down  with  the  empty  bowl  Nancy  had  a  pile  of 
dishes  ready  washed,  and  Ellen  took  the  towel  to  dry  them.  Mrs. 
Montgomery,  who  had  been  in  an  uncommonly  quiet  fit  all  day, 
now  laid  down  her  knitting  and  asked  if  Ellen  would  not  come 
and  read  to  her. 

"  Presently,  grandma, — as  soon  as  I  have  done  here." 

"  I  know  somebody  that's  tired,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  tell  you 
what,  Ellen, — you  had  better  take  to  liking  pork;  you  can't  work 
on  potatoes.  I  ain't  tired  a  bit.  There's  somebody  coming  to  the 
door  again  !  Do  run  and  open  it,  will  you  ?  my  hands  are  wet.  I 
wonder  why  folks  can't  come  in  without  giving  so  much  trouble." 

It  was  Thomas  again,  with  a  package  for  Ellen  which  had  just 
come,  he  said,  and  Miss  Alice  thought  she  would  like  to  have  it 
directly.  Ellen  thanked  her,  and  thanked  him,  with  a  face  from 
which  all  signs  of  weariness  had  fled  away.  The  parcel  was  sealed 
up,  and  directed  in  a  hand  she  was  pretty  sure  she  knew.  Her 
fingers  burned  to  break  the  seal ;  but  she  would  not  open  it  there, 
neither  leave  her  work  unfinished  ;  she  went  on  wiping  the  dishes 
with  trembling  hands  and  a  beating  heart. 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Nancy  ;  "  what  did  Thomas  Grimes  want  ? 
what  have  you  got  there  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  smiling  ; — "  something  good,  I 
guess." 

"  Something  good?  is  it  something  to  eat?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "I  didn't  mean  anything  to  eat  when  I 
said  something  good ;  I  don't  think  those  are  the  best  things." 

To  Ellen's  delight  she  saw  that  her  grandmother  had  forgotten 
about  the  reading  and  was  quietly  taking  short  naps  with  her  head 
against  the  chimney.  So  she  put  away  the  last  dish,  and  then 
seized  her  package  and  flew  up  stairs.  She  was  sure  it  had  come 
from  Doncaster ;  she  was  right.  It  was  a  beautiful  copy  of  the 
"  Pilgrim'  s  Progress," — on  the  first  leaf  written,  "To  my  little 
sister  Ellen  Montgomery,  from  J.  H. ;"  and  within  the  cover  lay 
a  letter.  This  letter  Ellen  read  in  the  course  of  the  next  six 
days  at  least  twice  as  many  times  ;  and  never  without  crying  over 
it. 

"Alice  has  told  me"  (said  John),  "about  your  new  troubles. 


368  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

There  is  said  to  be  a  time  l  when  the  clouds  return  after  the  rain.' 
I  am  sorry,  my  little  sister,  this  time  should  come  to  you  so  early. 
I  often  think  of  you,  and  wish  I  could  be  near  you.  Still,  dear 
Ellie,  the  good  Husbandman  knows  what  his  plants  want ;  do  you 
believe  that,  and  can  you  trust  him  ?  They  should  have  nothing 
but  sunshine  if  that  was  good  for  them.  He  knows  it  is  not;  so 
there  come  clouds  and  rains,  and  '  stormy  wind  fulfilling  his  will.' 
And  what  is  it  all  for  ? — '  Herein  is  my  Father  glorified,  that  ye  bear 
much  fruit ;'  do  not  disappoint  his  purpose,  Ellie.  We  shall  have 
sunshine  enough  by  and  by, — but  I  know  it  is  hard  for  so  young  a 
one  as  my  little  sister  to  look  much  forward  ;  so  do  not  look  for 
ward,  Ellie ;  look  up !  look  off  unto  Jesus, — from  all  your  duties, 
troubles,  and  wants  ;  he  will  help  you  in  them  all.  The  more  you 
look  up  to  him  the  more  he  will  look  down  to  you  ;  and  he  espe 
cially  said,  '  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me  ;'  you  see  you  are 
particularly  invited." 

Ellen  was  a  long  time  up  stairs,  and  when  she  came  down  it  was 
with  red  eyes. 

Mrs.  Montgomery  was  now  awake  and  asked  for  the  reading 
again;  and  for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  Ellen  and  she  were 
quietly  busy  with  the  Bible.  Nancy  meanwhile  was  down  stairs 
washing  the  dairy  things.  When  her  grandmother  released  her 
Ellen  had  to  go  up  to  wait  upon  her  aunt ;  after  which  she  went 
into  the  buttery,  and  skimmed  the  cream,  and  got  the  pans  ready 
for  the  evening  milk.  By  this  time  it  was  five  o'clock,  and  Nancy 
came  in  with  the  basket  of  dry  clothes ;  at  which  Ellen  looked 
with  the  sorrowful  consciousness  that  they  must  be  sprinkled  and 
folded  by  and  by,  and  ironed  to-morrow.  It  happened,  however, 
that  Jane  Huff  came  in  just  then  with  a  quantity  of  hot  short 
cake  for  tea  ;  and  seeing  the  basket  she  very  kindly  took  the  busi 
ness  of  sprinkling  and  folding  upon  herself.  This  gave  Ellen 
spirits  to  carry  out  a  plan  she  had  long  had,  to  delight  the  whole 
family  with  some  eggs  scrambled  in  Margery's  fashion  ;  after  the 
milk  was  strained  and  put  away  she  went  about  it,  while  Nancy 
set  the  table.  A  nice  bed  of  coals  was  prepared  ;  the  spider  set 
over  them ;  the  eggs  broken  in,  peppered  and  salted ;  and  she  be 
gan  carefully  to  stir  them  as  she  had  seen  Margery  do.  But  in 
stead  of  acting  right  the  eggs  maliciously  stuck  fast  to  the  spider 
and  burned.  Ellen  was  confounded. 

"  How  much  butter  did  you  put  in  ?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  who 
had  come  in,  and  stood  looking  on. 

"  Butter  !"  said  Ellen  looking  up, — "  oh,  I  forgot  all  about  it ! — 
I  ought  to  have  put  that  in,  oughtn't  I ! — I'm  sorry  !" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — "  'tain't  worth  your  being 
sorry  about.  Here,  Nancy — clean  us  off  this  spider,  and  we'll  try 
again." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  369 

At  this  moment  Miss  Fortune  was  heard  screaming  ;  Ellen  ran 
up. 

"What  did  she  want  ?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  when  she  came 
down  again. 

"  She  wanted  to  know  what  was  burning." 

"Did  you  tell  her?" 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  what  did  she  say  ?" 

"  Said  I  mustn't  use  any  more  eggs  without  asking  her." 

"  That  ain't  fair  play,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt ; — ;'  you  and  I  are 
the  head  of  the  house  now,  I  take  it.  You  just  use  as  many  on 
'em  as  you've  a  mind ;  and  all  you  spile  I'll  fetch  you  again  from 
hum.  That's  you,  Nancy !  Now,  Ellen,  here's  the  spider;  try 
again  ;  let's  have  plenty  of  butter  in  this  time,  and  plenty  of  eggs 
too." 

This  time  the  eggs  were  scrambled  to  a  nicety,  and  the  supper 
met  with  great  favour  from  all  parties. 

Ellen's  day  was  done  when  the  dishes  were.  The  whole  family 
went  early  to  bed.  She  was  weary  ;  but  she  could  rest  well.  She 
had  made  her  old  grandmother  comfortable  ;  she  had  kept  the 
peace  with  Nancy ;  she  had  pleased  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  she  had 
faithfully  served  her  aunt.  Her  sleep  was  uncrossed  by  a  dream, 
untroubled  by  a  single  jar  of  conscience.  And  her  awaking  to 
another  day  of  labour,  though  by  no  means  joyful,  was  yet  not 
unhopeful  or  unhappy. 

She  had  a  hard  trial  a  day  or  two  after.  It  was  in  the  end  of 
the  afternoon,  she  had  her  big  apron  on,  and  was  in  the  buttery 
skimming  the  milk,  when  she  heard  the  kitchen  door  open,  and 
footsteps  enter  the  kitchen.  Out  went  little  Ellen  to  see  who  it 
was,  and  there  stood  Alice  and  old  Mr.  Marshman  !  He  was  going 
to  take  Alice  home  with  him  the  next  morning,  and  wanted  Ellen 
to  go  too  ;  and  they  had  come  to  ask  her.  Ellen  knew  it  was  im 
possible,  that  is,  that  it  would  not  be  right,  and  she  said  so ;  and 
in  spite  of  Alice's  wistful  look,  and  Mr.  Marshman' s  insisting,  she 
stood  her  ground.  Not  without  some  difficulty,  and  some  glisten 
ing  of  the  eyes.  They  had  to  give  it  up.  Mr.  Marshman  then 
wanted  to  know  what  she  meant  by  swallowing  herself  up  in  an 
apron  in  that  sort  of  way  ?  so  Ellen  had  him  into  the  buttery  and 
showed  him  what  she  had  been  about.  He  would  see  her  skim 
several  pans,  and  laughed  at  her  prodigiously  ;  though  there  was  a 
queer  look  about  his  eyes,  too,  all  the  time.  And  when  he  went 
away,  he  held  her  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again  ;  and 
said  that  "  some  of  these  days  he  would  take  her  away  from  her 
aunt,  and  she  should  have  her  no  more."  Ellen  stood  and  looked 
after  them  till  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  then  went  up  stairs  and 
had  a  good  cry. 


370  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

The  butter-making  soon  became  quite  too  much  for  Ellen  to 
manage ;  so  Jane  Huff  and  Jenny  Hitchcock  were  engaged  to 
come  by  turns  and  do  the  heavy  part  of  it ;  all  within  the  buttery 
being  still  left  to  Ellen,  for  Miss  Fortune  would  have  no  one  else 
go  there.  It  was  a  great  help  to  have  them  take  even  so  much 
off  her  hands ;  and  they  often  did  some  other  little  odd  jobs  for 
her.  The  milk  however  seemed  to  increase  as  fast  as  the  days 
grew  longer,  and  Ellen  could  not  find  that  she  was  much  less  busy. 
The  days  were  growing  pleasant  too ;  soft  airs  began  to  come ;  the 
grass  was  of  a  beautiful  green ;  the  buds  on  the  branches  began 
to  swell,  and  on  some  trees  to  put  out.  When  Ellen  had  a  moment 
of  time  she  used  to  run  across  the  chip-yard  to  the  barn,  or  round 
the  garden,  or  down  to  the  brook,  and  drink  in  the  sweet  air  and 
the  lovely  sights  which  never  had  seemed  quite  so  lovely  before. 
If  once  in  a  while  she  could  get  half  an  hour  before  tea,  she  used 
to  take  her  book  and  sit  down  on  the  threshold  of  the  front  door, 
or  on  the  big  log  under  the  apple-tree  in  the  chip-yard.  In  those 
minutes  the  reading  was  doubly  sweet ;  or  else  the  loveliness  of 
earth  and  sky  was  such  that  Ellen  could  not  take  her  eyes  from 
them  ;  till  she  saw  Sam  or  Johnny  coming  out  of  the  cowhouse 
door  with  the  pails  of  milk,  or  heard  their  heavy  tramp  over  the 
chips; — then  she  had  to  jump  and  run.  Those  were  sweet  half 
hours.  Ellen  did  not  at  first  know  how  much  reason  she  had  to 
be  delighted  with  her  ''Pilgrim's  Progress;"  she  saw  to  be  sure 
that  it  was  a  fine  copy,  well  bound,  with  beautiful  cuts.  But  when 
she  came  to  look  further,  she  found  all  through  the  book,  on  the 
margin  or  at  the  bottom  of  the  leaves,  in  John's  beautiful  hand 
writing,  a  great  many  notes — simple,  short,  plain,  exactly  what  was 
needed  to  open  the  whole  book  to  her  and  make  it  of  the  greatest 
possible  use  and  pleasure.  Many  things  she  remembered  hearing 
from  his  lips  when  they  were  reading  it  together ;  there  was  a 
large  part  of  the  book  where  all  was  new ;  the  part  he  had  not 
had  time  to  finish,  f  How  Ellen  loved  the  book  and  the  giver  when 
she  found  these  beautiful  notes,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  She 
counted  it  her  greatest  treasure  next  to  her  little  red  Bible. ' 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  371 


CHAPTER  XXXVL 

Oh,  what  will  I  do  wi'  him,  quo'  he, 

What  will  I  do  wi'  him  ? 
What  will  I  do  wi'  him,  quo'  he, 

What  will  I  do  wi'  him  ? 

OLD  SONG. 

IN  the  course  of  time  Miss  Fortune  showed  signs  -of  mending ; 
and,  at  last,  toward  the  latter  end  of  April,  she  was  able  to  come 
down  stairs.  All  parties  hailed  this  event  for  different  reasons ; 
even  Nancy  was  growing  tired  of  her  regular  life,  and  willing  to 
have  a  change.  Ellen's  joy  was,  however,  soon  diminished  by  the 
terrible  rummaging  which  took  place.  Miss  Fortune's  hands  were 
yet  obliged  to  lie  still,  but  her  eyes  did  double  duty ;  they  were 
never  known  to  be  idle  in  the  best  of  times,  and  it  seemed  to  Ellen 
now  as  if  they  were  taking  amends  for  all  their  weeks  of  forced 
rest.  Oh,  those  eyes  !  Dust  was  found  where  Ellen  never  dreamed 
of  looking  for  any  ;  things  were  said  to  be  dreadfully  "  in  the  way" 
where  she  had  never  found  it  out ;  disorder  and  dirt  were  groaned 
over,  where  Ellen  did  not  know  the  fact  or  was  utterly  ignorant 
how  to  help  it ;  waste  was  suspected  where  none  had  been,  and 
carelessness  charged  where  rather  praise  was  due.  Impatient  to 
have  things  to  her  mind,  and  as  yet  unable  to  do  any  thing  herself, 
Miss  Fortune  kept  Nancy  and  Ellen  running,  till  both  wished  her 
back  in  bed ;  and  even  Mr.  Van  Brunt  grumbled  that  "  to  pay 
Ellen  for  having  grown  white  and  poor,  her  aunt  was  going  to  work 
the  little  flesh  she  had  left  off  her  bones."  It  was  rather  hard  to 
bear,  just  when  she  was  looking  for  ease  too ;  her  patience  and 
temper  were  more  tried  than  in  all  those  weeks  before.  But  if 
there  was  small  pleasure  in  pleasing  her  aunt,  Ellen  did  earnestly 
wish  to  please  God  ;  she  struggled  against  ill  temper,  prayed 
against  it ;  and  though  she  often  blamed  herself  in  secret,  she  did 
so  go  through  that  week  as  to  call  forth  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  admira 
tion,  and  even  to  stir  a  little  the  conscience  of  her  aunt.  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  comforted  her  with  the  remark  that  "  it  is  darkest  just  be 
fore  day,"  and  so  it  proved.  Before  the  week  was  at  an  end  Miss 
Fortune  began,  as  she  expressed  it,  to  "take  hold;"  Jenny  Hitch 
cock  and  Jane  Huff  were  excused  from  any  more  butter-making ; 
Nancy  was  sent  away  ;  Ellen's  labours  were  much  lightened ;  and 
the  house  was  itself  again. 

The  third  of  May  came.  For  the  first  time  in  near  two  months 
Ellen  found  in  the  afternoon  she  could  be  spared  awhile  ;  there  was 
no  need  to  think  twice  what  she  would  do  with  her  leisure.  Per- 


372  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

haps  Margery  could  tell  her  something  of  Alice  !  Hastily  and 
joyfully  she  exchanged  her  working  frock  for  a  merino,  put  on 
nice  shoes  and  stockings  and  ruffle  again,  and  taking  her  bonnet 
and  gloves  to  put  on  out  of  doors,  away  she  ran.  Who  can  tell 
how  pleasant  it  seemed,  after  so  many  weeks,  to  be  able  to  walk 
abroad  again,  and  to  walk  to  the  mountain  !  Ellen  snuffed  the 
sweet  air,  skipped  on  the  green  sward,  picked  nosegays  of  grass 
and  dandelions,  and  at  last  unable  to  contain  herself  set  off"  to  run. 
Fatigue  soon  brought  this  to  a  stop  ;  then  she  walked  more  leisurely 
on,  enjoying.  It  was  a  lovely  spring  day.  Ellen's  eyes  were  glad 
dened  by  it ;  .she  felt  thankful  in  her  heart  that  God  had  made 
every  thing  so  beautiful ;  she  thought  it  was  pleasant  to  think  he 
had  made  them  ;  pleasant  to  see  in  them  everywhere  so  much  of 
the  wisdom  and  power  and  goodness  of  him  she  looked  up  to  with 
joy  as  her  best  friend.  She  felt  quietly  happy,  and  sure  he  would 
take  care  of  her.  Then  a  thought  of  Alice  came  into  her  head ; 
she  set  off  to  run  again,  and  kept  it  up  this  time  till  she  got  to  the 
old  house  and  ran  round  the  corner.  She  stopped  at  the  shed  door 
and  went  through  into  the  lower  kitchen. 

"Why,  Miss  Ellen  dear!"  exclaimed  Margery, — "if  that  isn't 
you !  Aren't  you  come  in  the  very  nick  of  time  !  How  do  you 
do?  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you — uncommon  glad  to  be  sure. 
What  witch  told  you  to  come  here  just  now  ?  Run  in,  run  into 
the  parlour  and  see  what  you'll  find  there." 

"  Has  Alice  come  back  ?"  cried  Ellen.  But  Margery  only 
laughed  and  said,  "  Run  in  !" 

Up  the  steps,  through  the  kitchen,  and  across  the  hall,  Ellen 
ran, — burst  open  the  parlour  door, — and  was  in  Alice's  arms. 
There  were  others  in  the  room ;  but  Ellen  did  not  seem  to  know 
it,  clinging  to  her  and  holding  her  in  a  fast  glad  embrace,  till  Alice 
bade  her  look  up  and  attend  to  somebody  else.  And  then  she  was 
seized  round  the  neck  by  little  Ellen  Chauncey ! — and  then  came 
her  mother,  and  then  Miss  Sophia.  The  two  children  were  over 
joyed  to  see  each  other,  while  their  joy  was  touching  to  see,  from 
the  shade  of  sorrow  in  the  one,  and  of  sympathy  in  the  other. 
Ellen  was  scarcely  less  glad  to  see  kind  Mrs.  Chauncey ;  Miss 
Sophia's  greeting  too  was  very  affectionate.  But  Ellen  returned 
to  Alice,  and  rested  herself  in  her  lap  with  one  arm  round  her 
neck,  the  other  hand  being  in  little  Ellen's  grasp. 

"  And  now  you  are  happy,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Miss  Sophia  when 
they  were  thus  placed. 

"Very,"  said  Ellen,  smiling. 

"  Ah,  but  you'll  be  happier  by  and  by,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey. 

"Hush,  Ellen!"  said  Miss  Sophia; — "what  curious  things 
children  are  ! — You  didn't  expect  to  find  us  all  here,  did  you,  Ellen 
Montgomery?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  373 

"No  indeed,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  drawing  Alice's  cheek  nearer 
for  another  kiss. 

"  We  have  but  just  come,  Ellie,"  said  her  sister.  "I  should 
not  have  been  long  in  finding  you  out.  My  child,  how  thin  you 
have  got." 

"  Oh,  I'll  grow  fat  again  now,"  said  Ellen. 

"  How  is  Miss  Fortune?" 

"  Oh,  she  is  up  again  and  well." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  expect  your  father  home,  Ellen  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ; — aunt  Fortune  says  perhaps  he  will  be  here  in  a  , 
week." 

"  Then  you  are  very  happy  in  looking  forward,  aren't  you  ?"  said 
Miss  Sophia,  not  noticing  the  cloud  that  had  come  over  Ellen's 
brow. 

Ellen  hesitated, — coloured — coloured  more, — and  finally  with  a 
sudden  motion  hid  her  face  against  Alice. 

"  When  did  he  sail,  Ellie  ?"  said  Alice  gravely. 

"In  the  Due  d' Orleans — he  said  he  would " 

"  When?" 

"The  fifth  of  April.— Oh,  I  can't  help  it!"  exclaimed  Ellen, 
failing  in  the  effort  to  control  herself ;  she  clasped  Alice  as  if  she 
feared  even  then  the  separating  hand.  Alice  bent  her  head  down 
and  whispered  words  of  comfort. 

"Mamma!"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey  under  her  breath,  and 
looking  solemn  to  the  last  degree, — "  don't  Ellen  want  to  see  her 
father?" 

"  She's  afraid  that  he  may  take  her  away  where  she  will  not  be 
with  Alice  any  more ;  and  you  know  she  has  no  mother  to  go  to." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Ellen  with  a  very  enlightened  face  ; — "  but  he  won't, 
will  he?" 

"  I  hope  not;  I  think  not." 

Cheered  again,  the  little  girl  drew  near  and  silently  took  one  of 
Ellen's  hands. 

"We  shall  not  be  parted,  Ellie,"  said  Alice, — "you  need  not 
fear.  If  your  father  takes  you  away  from  your  aunt  Fortune,  I 
think  it  will  be  only  to  give  you  to  me.  You  need  not  fear  yet." 

"  Mamma  says  so  too,  Ellen,"  said  her  little  friend. 

This  was  strong  consolation.     Ellen  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"Now  come  with  me,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey,  pulling  her  hand, 
— "I  want  you  to  show  me  something;  let's  go  down  to  the 
garden, — come  !  exercise  is  good  for  you." 

"No,  no,"  said  her  mother  smiling, — "Ellen  has  had  exercise 
enough  lately  ;  you  mustn't  take  her  down  to  the  garden  now  ;  you 
would  find  nothing  there.  Come  here  !" 

A  long  whisper  followed,  which  seemed  to  satisfy  little  Ellen 

32 


374  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

and  she  ran  out  of  the  room.  Some  time  passed  in  pleasant  talk 
and  telling  all  that  had  happened  since  they  had  seen  each  other ; 
then  little  Ellen  came  back  and  called  Ellen  Montgomery  to  the 
glass  door,  saying  she  wanted  her  to  look  at  something. 

"It  is  only  a  horse  we  brought  with  us,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 
"  Ellen  thinks  it  is  a  great  beauty,  and  can't  rest  till  you  have  seen 
it." 

Ellen  went  accordingly  to  the  door.  There  to  be  sure  was 
Thomas  before  it  holding  a  pony  bridled  and  saddled.  He  was 
certainly  a  very  pretty  little  creature ;  brown  all  over  except  one 
white  forefoot;  his  coat  shone  it  was  so  glossy;  his  limbs  were 
fine ;  his  eye  gentle  and  bright ;  his  tail  long  enough  to  please  the 
children.  He  stood  as  quiet  as  a  lamb,  whether  Thomas  held  him 
or  not. 

"Oh,  what  a  beauty!"  said  Ellen; — "what  a  lovely  little 
horse  !" 

"Ain't  he!"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "and  he  goes  so  beau 
tifully  besides,  and  never  starts  nor  nothing ;  and  he  is  as  good- 
natured  as  a  little  dog." 

"  As  a  good-natured  little  dog,  she  means,  Ellen,"  said  Miss 
Sophia, — "there  are  little  dogs  of  very  various  character." 

"Well  he  looks  good-natured,"  said  Ellen.  "  What  a  pretty 
head ! — and  what  a  beautiful  new  side-saddle,  and  all.  I  never 
saw  such  a  dear  little  horse  in  my  life.  Is  it  yours,  Alice?" 

"No,"  said  Alice,  "it  is  a  present  to  a  friend  of  Mr.  Marsh- 
man's." 

"  She'll  be  a  very  happy  friend,  I  should  think,"  said  Ellen. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey,  dancing  up  and 
down, — "  that's  what  I  said.  I  said  you'd  be  happier  by  and  by, 
didn't  I?" 

"I?"  said  Ellen  colouring. 

"Yes,  you, — you  are  the  friend  it  is  for;  it's  for  you,  it's  for 
you!  you  are  grandpa's  friend,  aren't  you?"  she  repeated,  spring 
ing  upon  Ellen,  and  hugging  her  up  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

"But  it  isn't  really  for  me,  is  it?"  said  Ellen,  now  looking 
almost  pale  ; — "  Oh,  Alice  ! — " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Miss  Sophia, — "  what  will  papa  say  if  I  tell 
him  you  received  his  present  so  ? — come,  hold  up  your  head  !  Put 
on  your  bonnet  and  try  him  ; — come,  Ellen  !  let's  see  you." 

Ellen  did  not  know  whether  to  cry  or  laugh, — till  she  mounted 
the  pretty  pony;  that  settled  the  matter.  Not  Ellen  Chauncey 's 
unspeakable  delight  was  as  great  as  her  own.  She  rode  slowly  up 
and  down  before  the  house,  and  once  a-going  would  not  have 
known  how  to  stop  if  she  had  not  recollected  that  the  pony  had 
travelled  thirty  miles  that  day  and  must  be  tired.  Ellen  took  not 
another  turn  after  that.  She  jumped  down,  and  begged  Thomas 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


375 


to  take  the  tenderest  care  of  him ;  patted  his  neck  ;  ran  into  the 
kitchen  to  beg  of  Margery  a  piece  of  bread  to  give  him  from  her 
hand ;  examined  the  new  stirrup  and  housings,  and  the  pony  all 
over  a  dozen  times  ;  and  after  watching  him  as  Thomas  led  him 
off,  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  finally  came  back  into  the  house  with  a 


face  of  marvellous  contentment.  She  tried  to  fashion  some 
message  of  thanks  for  the  kind  giver  of  the  pony  ;  but  she  wanted 
to  express  so  much  that  no  words  would  do.  Mrs.  Chauncey  how 
ever  smiled  and  assured  her  she  knew  exactly  what  to  say. 

"That  pony  has  been  destined  for  you,  Ellen,"  she  said,  "this 


376  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

year  and  more  ;  but  my  father  waited  to  have  him  thoroughly  well 
broken.  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  him  ;  he  is  perfectly  gentle 
and  well-trained  ;  if  he  had  not  been  sure  of  that  my  father  would 
never  have  sent  him ; — though  Mr.  John  is  making  such  a  horse 
woman  of  you." 

"  I  wish  I  could  thank  him,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  but  I  don't  know 
how." 

"What  will  you  call  him,  Ellen,"  said  Miss  Sophia.  "My 
father -has  dubbed  him  '  George  Marshman  ;' — he  says  you  will  like 
that,  as  my  brother  is  such  a  favourite  of  yours." 

"  He  didn't  really,  did  he?"  said  Ellen,  looking  from  Sophia  to 
Alice.  "  I  needn't  call  him  that,  need  I?" 

"  Not  unless  you  like,"  said  Miss  Sophia  laughing, — u  you  may 
change  it;  but  what  will  you  call  him?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  very  gravely, — "he  must  have  a 
name  to  be  sure." 

"But  why  don't  you  call  him  that?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — 
"  George  is  a  very  pretty  name  ; — I  like  that;  I  should  call  him 
'  Uncle  George.'  " 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!"  said  Ellen, — "I  couldn't  call  him  so;  J 
shouldn't  like  it  at  all." 

"  George  Washington  ?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  No  indeed  !"  said  Ellen.     "  I  guess  I  wouldn't !' 

"  Why,  is  it  too  good,  or  not  good  enough  ?"  said  Miss  Sophia. 

"  Too  good  !  A  great  deal  too  good  for  a  horse  !  I  wouldn't 
for  any  thing." 

"  How  would  Brandy  wine  do  then,  since  you  are  so  patriotic  ?" 
said  Miss  Sophia,  looking  amused. 

"  What  is  <  patriotic  ?'  "  said  Ellen. 

"  A  patriot,  Ellen,"  said  Alice  smiling, — "  is  one  who  has  a 
strong  and  true  love  for  his  country." 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  am  patriotic,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  I 
won't  call  him  Brandy  wine.  Why,  Miss  Sophia!" 

"  No,  I  wouldn't  either,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  it  isn't  a  pretty 
name.  Call  him  Seraphine! — like  Miss  Angell's  pony — that's 
pretty." 

"  No,  no, — '  Seraphine  !'  nonsense  !"  said  Miss  Sophia  ; — "  call 
him  Benedict  Arnold,  Ellen  ;  and  then  it  will  be  a  relief  to  your 
mind  to  whip  him." 

"  Whip  him  !"  said  Ellen, — "  I  don't  want  to  whip  him,  I  am 
sure  ;  and  I  should  be  afraid  to  besides." 

"  Hasn't  John  taught  you  that  lesson  yet  ?"  said  the  young  lady  ; 
— "  he  is  perfect  in  it  himself.  Do  you  remember,  Alice,  the  chas 
tising  he  gave  that  fine  black  horse  of  ours  we  called  the  *  Black 
Prince?' — a  beautiful  creature  he  was, — more  than  a  year  ago  ? — 
My  conscience!  he  frightened  me  to  death." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  377 

"  I  remember,"  said  Alice  ;   "  I  remember  I  could  not  look  on." 

"  What  did  he  do  that  for  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"What's  the  matter,  Ellen  Montgomery  ?' ;  said  Miss  Sophia, 
laughing, — "  where  did  you  get  that  long  face  ?  Are  you  thinking 
of  John  or  the  horse?" 

Ellen's  eyes  turned  to  Alice. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice  smiling,  though  she  spoke  seri 
ously, — "  it  was  necessary  ;  it  sometimes  is  necessary  to  do  such 
things.  Yovi  do  not  suppose  John  would  do  it  cruelly  or  unneces 
sarily?" 

Ellen's  face  shortened  considerably. 

"  But  what  had  the  horse  been  doing  ?" 

"  He  had  not  been  doing  any  thing  ;  he  would  not  do, — that  was 
the  trouble  ;  he  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule." 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  "  it  was  no  such  terrible  matter  as 
Sophia's  words  have  made  you  believe.  It  was  a  clear  case  of 
obstinacy.  The  horse  was  resolved  to  have  his  own  way  and  not 
do  what  his  rider  required  of  him  ;  it  was  necessary  that  either 
the  horse  or  the  man  should  give  up  ;  and  as  John  has  no  fancy 
for  giving  up,  he  carried  his  point, — partly  by  management,  partly, 
I  confess,  by  a  judicious  use  of  the  whip  and  spur ;  but  there  was 
no  such  furious  flagellation  as  Sophia  seems  to  mean,  and  which  a 
good  horseman  would  scarce  be  guilty  of." 

"  A  very  determined  l  use,'  "  said  Miss  Sophia.  "  I  advise  you, 
Ellen,  not  to  trust  your  pony  to  Mr.  John  ;  he  will  have  no  mercy 
on  him." 

"Sophia  is  laughing,  Ellen,"  said  Alice.  "You  and  I  know 
John,  do  we  not  ?" 

"  Then  he  did  right?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Perfectly  right — except  in  mounting  the  horse  at  all,  which  I 
never  wished  him  to  do.  No  one  on  the  place  would  ride  him." 

"  He  carried  John  beautifully  all  the  day  after  that  though," 
said  Miss  Sophia,  "  and  I  dare  say  he  might  have  ridden  him  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter  if  you  would  have  let  papa  give  him  to 
him.  But  he  was  of  no  use  to  any  body  else.  Howard  couldn't 
manage  him — I  suppose  he  was  too  lazy.  Papa  was  delighted 
enough  that  day  to  have  given  John  any  thing.  And  I  can  tell 
you  Black  Prince  the  second  is  spirited  enough ;  I  am  afraid  you 
won't  like  him." 

"  John  has  a  present  of  a  horse  too,  Ellen,"  said  Alice. 

"  Has  he  ?— from  Mr.  Marshman  ?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm  very  glad!  Oh,  what  rides  we  can  take  now,  can't  we, 
Alice?  We  shan't  want  to  borrow  Jenny's  pony  any  more.  What 
kind  of  a  horse  is  Mr.  John's  ?" 

"  Black,— perfectly  black." 

32* 


378  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Is  he  handsome  ?" 

"  Very." 

"  Is  his  name  Black  Prince  ?" 

"  Yes." 

Ellen  began  to  consider  the  possibility  of  calling  her  pony  the 
Brown  Princess,  or  by  some  similar  title — the  name  of  John's  two 
chargers  seeming  the  very  most  striking  a  horse  could  be  known  by. 

"Don't  forget,  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  "to  tell  John  to 
stop  for  him  on  his  way  home.  It  will  give  us  a  chance  of  seeing 
him,  which  is  not  a  common  pleasure,  in  any  sense  of  the  term." 

They  went  back  to  the  subject  of  the  name,  which  Ellen  pon 
dered  with  uneasy  visions  of  John  and  her  poor  pony  flitting 
through  her  head.  The  little  horse  was  very  hard  to  fit,  or  else 
Ellen's  taste  was  very  hard  to  suit ;  a  great  many  names  were  pro 
posed,  none  of  which  were  to  her  mind,  Charley,  and  Cherry,  and 
Brown,  and  Dash,  and  Juniper, — but  she  said  they  had  "John" 
and  "Jenny"  already  in  Thirl  wall,  and  she  didn't  want  a  "  Char 
ley  ;"  "  Brown"  was  not  pretty,  and  she  hoped  he  wouldn't  "  dash" 
at  any  thing,  nor  be  a  "jumper"  when  she  was  on  his  back. 
Cherry  she  mused  awhile  about,  but  it  wouldn't  do. 

"Call  him  Fairy,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey; — "that's  a  pretty 
name.  Mamma  says  she  used  to  have  a  horse  called  Fairy.  Do, 
Ellen  !  call  him  Fairy." 

"No,"  said  Ellen  ;  "he  can't  have  a  lady's  name — that's  the 
trouble." 

"  I  have  it,  Ellen  !"  said  Alice  ; — "  I  have  a  name  for  you, — call 
him  the  Brownie." 

"  The  '  Brownie?'  "  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes — brownies  are  male  fairies  ;  and  brown  is  his  colour;  so 
how  will  that  do?" 

It  was  soon  decided  that  it  would  do  very  well.  It  was  simple, 
descriptive,  and  not  common  ;  Ellen  made  up  her  mind  that  "  The 
Brownie' '  should  be  his  name.  No  sooner  given,  it  began  to  grow 
dear.  Ellen's  face  quitted  its  look  of  anxious  gravity  and  came 
out  into  the  broadest  and  fullest  satisfaction.  She  never  showed 
joy  boisterously  ;  but  there  was  a  light  in  her  eye  which  brought 
many  a  smile  into  those  of  her  friends  as  they  sat  round  the  tea- 
table. 

After  tea  it  was  necessary  to  go  home,  much  to  the  sorrow  of  all 
parties.  Ellen  knew  however  it  would  not  do  to  stay  ;  Miss 
Fortune  was  but  just  got  well,  and  perhaps  already  thinking  her 
self  ill-used.  She  put  on  her  things. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  your  pony  home  with  you?"  said  Miss 
Sophia. 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am,  not  to-night.  I  must  see  about  a  place  for 
him ;  and  besides,  poor  fellow,  he  is  tired  I  dare  say." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  379 

"  I  do  believe  you  would  take  more  care  of  his  legs  than  of  your 
own,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 

"  But  you'll  be  here  to-morrow  early,  Ellie?" 

"  Oh,  won't  I !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  as  she  sprang  to  Alice's  neck ; 
— "as  early  as  I  can,  at  least;  I  don't  know  when  aunt  Fortune 
will  have  done  with  me." 

The  way  home  seemed  as  nothing.  If  she  was  tired  she  did  not 
know  it.  The  Brownie  !  the  Brownie  ! — the  thought  of  him  car 
ried  her  as  cleverly  over  the  ground  as  his  very  back  would  have 
done.  She  came  running  into  the  chip-yard. 

"  Hollo  !' '  cried  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  who  was  standing  under  the 
apple-tree  cutting  a  piece  of  wood  for  the  tongue  of  the  ox-cart, 
which  had  been  broken, — "I'm  glad  to  see  you  can  run.  I  was 
afeard  you'd  hardly  be  able  to  stand  by  this  time  ;  but  there  you 
come  like  a  young  deer  !" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,  coming  close  up  to  him  and 
speaking  in  an  under  tone, — "you  don't  know  what  a  present  I 
have  had  !  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Marshman  has  sent  me  from 
Ventnor?" 

"  Couldn't  guess,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  resting  the  end  of  his 
pole  on  the  log  and  chipping  at  it  with  his  hatchet; — "never 
guessed  any  thing  in  my  life  ; — what  is  it?" 

"  He  has  sent  me  the  most  beautiful  little  horse  you  ever  saw  ! 
— for  my  own — for  me  to  ride ;  and  a  new  beautiful  saddle  and 
bridle ;  you  never  saw  any  thing  so  beautiful,  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  he 
is  all  brown,  with  one  white  forefoot,  and  I've  named  him  the 
'  Brownie ;'  and  oh,  Mr.  Van  Brunt !  do  you  think  aunt  Fortune 
will  let  him  come  here?" 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  chipped  away  at  his  pole,  looking  very  good- 
humoured. 

"  Because  you  know  I  couldn't  have  half  the  good  of  him  if  he 
had  to  stay  away  from  me  up  on  the  mountain.  I  shall  want  to 
ride  him  every  day.  Do  you  think  aunt  Fortune  will  let  him  be 
kept  here,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"I  guess  she  will,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  soberly,  arid  his  tone 
said  to  Ellen,  "/will,  if  she  don't." 

"Then  will  you  ask  her  and  see  about  it? — if  you  please  Mr. 
Van  Brunt !  I'd  rather  you  would.  And  you  won't  have  him 
put  to  plough  or  any  thing,  will  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?  Miss 
Sophia  says  it  would  spoil  him." 

"I'll  plough  myself  first,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with  his  half 
smile  ; — "  there  shan't  be  a  hair  of  his  coat  turned  the  wrong  way. 
/'//  see  to  him — as  if  he  was  a  prince." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  dear  Mr.  Van  Brunt!  How  good  you  are. 
Then  I  shall  not  speak  about  him  at  all  till  you  do,  remember.  I 
am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt!" 


380  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  ran  in.  She  got  a  chiding  for  her  long  stay,  but  it  fell 
upon  ears  that  could  not  hear.  The  Brownie  came  like  a  shield 
between  her  and  all  trouble.  She  smiled  at  her  aunt's  hard  words 
as  if  they  had  been  sugar-plums.  And  her  sleep  that  night  might 
have  been  prairie  land,  for  the  multitude  of  horses  of  all  sorts  that 
chased  through  it. 

"Have  you  heerd  the  news?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  when  he 
had  got  his  second  cup  of  coffee  at  breakfast  next  morning. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Fortune.     "  What  news?" 

"  There  ain't  as  much  news  as  there  used  to  be  when  I  was 
young,"  said  the  old  lady; — "  'seems  to  me  I  don't  hear  nothing 
now-a-days." 

"  You  might  if  you'd  keep  your  ears  open,  mother.  What 
news,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  Why,  here's  Ellen's  got  a  splendid  little  horse  sent  her  a  pres 
ent  from  some  of  her  great  friends, — Mr.  Marshchalk, — " 

"  Mr.  Marshman,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Mr.  Marshman.  There  ain't  the  like  in  the  country,  as  I've 
heerd  tell ;  and  I  expect  next  thing  she'll  be  flying  over  all  the 
fields  and  fences  like  smoke." 

There  was  a  meaning  silence.     Ellen's  heart  beat. 

"What's  going  to  be  done  with  him,  do  you  suppose?"  said 
Miss  Fortune.  Her  look  said.  "If  you  think  I  am  coming  round 
you  are  mistaken." 

"Humph!"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  slowly, — "I  s'pose  he'll  eat 
grass  in  the  meadow, — and  there'll  be  a  place  fixed  for  him  in  the 
stables." 

"  Not  in  my  stables,"  said  the  lady  shortly. 

"No, — in  mine,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  half  smiling; — "and  I'll 
settle  with  you  about  it  by  and  by, — when  we  square  up  our  ac 
counts." 

Miss  Fortune  was  very  much  vexed  ;  Ellen  could  see  that ;  but 
she  said  no  more,  good  or  bad,  about  the  matter ;  so  the  Brownie 
was  allowed  to  take  quiet  possession  of  meadow  and  stables ;  to 
his  mistress's  unbounded  joy. 

Any  body  that  knew  Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  have  been  surprised 
to  hear  what  he  said  that  morning ;  for  he  was  thought  to  be  quite 
as  keen  a  looker  after  the  main  chance  as  Miss  Fortune  herself, 
only  somehow  it  was  never  laid  against  him  as  it  was  against  her. 
However  that  might  be,  it  was  plain  he  took  pleasure  in  keeping 
his  word  about  the  pony.  Ellen  herself  could  not  have  asked 
more  careful  kindness  for  her  favourite  than  the  Brownie  had  from 
every  man  and  boy  about  the  farm. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  381 


CHAPTEK  XXXVII. 


Thou  must  run  to  him ;  for  thou  hast  stayed  so  long  that  going  will  scarce  serve 
the  turn. — SHAKSPEARE. 

CAPTAIN  MONTGOMERY  did  not  come  the  next  week,  nor  the 
week  after ;  and  what  is  more,  the  Duck  Dorleens,  as  his  sister 
called  the  ship  in  which  he  had  taken  passage,  was  never  heard  of 
from  that  time.  She  sailed  duly  on  the  fifth  of  April,  as  they 
learned  from  the  papers ;  but  whatever  became  of  her  she  never 
reached  port.  It  remained  a  doubt  whether  Captain  Montgomery 
had  actually  gone  in  her ;  and  Ellen  had  many  weeks  of  anxious 
watching,  first  for  himself,  and  then  for  news  of  him  in  case  he 
were  still  in  France.  None  ever  came.  Anxiety  gradually  faded 
into  uncertainty ;  and  by  midsummer  no  doubt  of  the  truth  re 
mained  in  any  mind.  If  Captain  Montgomery  had  been  alive,  he 
would  certainly  have  written,  if  not  before,  on  learning  the  fate 
of  the  vessel  in  which  he  had  told  his  friends  to  expect  him  home. 

Ellen  rather  felt  that  she  was  an  orphan  than  that  she  had  lost 
her  father.  She  had  never  learned  to  love  him,  he  had  never  given 
her  much  cause.  Comparatively  a  small  portion  of  her  life  had 
been  passed  in  his  society,  and  she  looked  back  to  it  as  the  least 
agreeable  of  all ;  and  it  had  not  been  possible  for  her  to  expect 
with  pleasure  his  return  to  America  and  visit  to  Thirlwall ;  she 
dreaded  it.  Life  had  nothing  now  worse  for  her  than  a  separation 
from  Alice  and  John  Humphreys ;  she  feared  her  father  might 
take  her  away  and  put  her  in  some  dreadful  boarding-school,  or 
carry  her  about  the  world  wherever  he  went,  a  wretched  wanderer 
from  every  thing  good  and  pleasant.  The  knowledge  of  his  death 
had  less  pain  for  her  than  the  removal  of  this  fear  brought  relief. 

Ellen  felt  sometimes,  soberly  and  sadly,  that  she  was  thrown  upon 
the  wide  world  now.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  so  she  had  been 
a  year  and  three-quarters  before ;  but  it  was  something  to  have  a 
father  and  mother  living  even  on  the  other  side  of  the  world. 
Now  Miss  Fortune  was  her  sole  guardian  and  owner.  However, 
she  could  hardly  realize  that,  with  Alice  and  John  so  near  at  hand. 
Without  reasoning  much  about  it,  she  felt  tolerably  secure  that 
they  would  take  care  of  her  interests,  and  make  good  their  claim 
to  interfere  if  ever  need  were. 

Ellen  and  her  little  horse  grew  more  and  more  fond  of  each 
other.  This  friendship,  no  doubt,  was  a  comfort  to  the  Brownie  ; 
but  to  his  mistress  it  made  a  large  part  of  the  pleasure  of  her 
every -day  life.  To  visit  him  was  her  delight,  at  all  hours,  early 


382  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

and  late  ;  and  it  is  to  the  Brownie's  credit  that  he  always  seemed 
as  glad  to  see  her  as  she  was  to  see  him.  At  any  time  Ellen's 
voice  would  bring  him  from  the  far  end  of  the  meadow  where  he 
was  allowed  to  run.  He  would  come  trotting  up  at  her  call,  and 
stand  to  have  her  scratch  his  forehead  or  pat  him  and  talk  to  him  ; 
and  though  the  Brownie  could  not  answer  her  speeches  he  cer 
tainly  seemed  to  hear  them  with  pleasure.  Then  throwing  up  his 
head  he  would  bound  off,  take  a  turn  in  the  field,  and  come  back 
again  to  stand  as  still  as  a  lamb  as  long  as  she  stayed  there  herself. 
Now  and  then,  when  she  had  a  little  more  time,  she  would  cross 
the  fence  and  take  a  walk  with  him  ;  and  there,  with  his  nose  just 
at  her  elbow,  wherever  she  went  the  Brownie  went  after  her. 
After  a  while  there  was  no  need  that  she  should  call  him  ;  if  he 
saw  or  heard  her  at  a  distance  it  was  enough ;  he  would  come  run 
ning  up  directly.  Ellen  loved  him  dearly. 

She  gave  him  more  proof  of  it  than  words  and  caresses.  Many 
were  the  apples  and  scraps  of  bread  hoarded  up  for  him  ;  and  if 
these  failed,  Ellen  sometimes  took  him  a  little  salt  to  show  that  he 
was  not  forgotten.  There  were  not  certainly  many  scraps  left  at 
Miss  Fortune's  table ;  nor  apples  to  be  had  at  home  for  such  a 
purpose,  except  what  she  gathered  up  from  the  poor  ones  that  were 
left  under  the  trees  for  the  hogs ;  but  Ellen  had  other  sources  of 
supply.  Once  she  had  begged  from  Jenny  Hitchcock  a  waste  bit 
that  she  was  going  to  throw  away ;  Jenny  found  what  she  wanted 
to  do  with  it,  and  after  that  many  a  basket  of  apples  and  many  a 
piece  of  cold  shortcake  was  set  by  for  her.  Margery,  too,  remem 
bered  the  Brownie  when  disposing  of  her  odds  and  ends ;  likewise 
did  Mrs.  Van  Brunt ;  so  that  among  them  all  Ellen  seldom  wanted 
something  to  give  him.  Mr.  Marshman  did  not  know  what  hap 
piness  he  was  bestowing  when  he  sent  her  that  little  horse.  Many, 
many,  were  the  hours  of  enjoyment  she  had  upon  his  back.  Ellen 
went  nowhere  but  upon  the  Brownie.  Alice  made  her  a  riding- 
dress  of  dark  gingham  ;  and  it  was  the  admiration  of  the  country 
to  see  her  trotting  or  cantering  by,  all  alone,  and  always  looking 
happy.  Ellen  soon  found  that  if  the  Brownie  was  to  do  her  much 
good  she  must  learn  to  saddle  and  bridle  him  herself.  This  was 
very  awkward  at  first,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  showed  her  how  to  manage,  and  after  a  while  it  became 
quite  easy.  She  used  to  call  the  Brownie  to  the  bar-place,  put  the 
bridle  on,  and  let  him  out;  and  then  he  would  stand  motionless 
before  her  while  she  fastened  the  saddle  on  ;  looking  round  some 
times  as  if  to  make  sure  that  it  was  she  herself,  and  giving  a  little 
kind  of  satisfied  neigh  when  he  saw  that  it  was.  Ellen's  heart 
began  to  dance  as  soon  as  she  felt  him  moving  under  her :  and 
once  off  and  away  on  the  docile  and  spirited  little  animal,  over  the 
roads,  through  the  lanes,  up  and  down  the  hills,  her  horse  her  only 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  383 

companion,  but  having  the  most  perfect  understanding  with  him, 
both  Ellen  and  the  Brownie  cast  care  to  the  winds.  "  I  do  be 
lieve,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  "  that  critter  would  a  leetle  rather 
have  Ellen  on  his  back  than  not."  He  was  the  Brownie's  next 
best  friend.  Miss  Fortune  never  said  any  thing  to  him  or  of  him. 

Ellen  however  reaped  a  reward  for  her  faithful  steadiness  to 
duty  while  her  aunt  was  ill.  Things  were  never  after  that  as  they 
had  been  before.  She  was  looked  on  with  a  different  eye.  To  be 
sure  Miss  Fortune  tasked  her  as  much  as  ever,  spoke  as  sharply, 
was  as  ready  to  scold  if  any  thing  went  wrong  ; — all  that  was  just 
as  it  used  to  be ;  but  beneath  all  that  Ellen  felt  with  great  satis 
faction  that  she  was  trusted  and  believed.  She  was  no  longer  an 
interloper,  in  every  body's  way  ;  she  was  not  watched  and  sus 
pected  ;  her  aunt  treated  her  as  one  of  the  family  and  a  person  to 
be  depended  on.  It  was  a  very  great  comfort  to  little  Ellen's  life. 
Miss  Fortune  even  owned  that  "  she  believed  she  was  an  honest 
child  and  meant  to  do  right," — a  great  deal  from  her;  Miss  For 
tune  was  never  over  forward  to  give  any  one  the  praise  of  honesty. 
Ellen  now  went  out  and  came  in  without  feeling  she  was  an  alien. 
And  though  her  aunt  was  always  bent  on  keeping  herself  and 
every  body  else  at  work,  she  did  not  now  show  any  particular  de 
sire  for  breaking  off  Ellen  from  her  studies  ;  and  was  generally 
willing  when  the  work  was  pretty  well  done  up  that  she  should 
saddle  the  Brownie  and  be  off  to  Alice  or  Mrs.  Vawse-. 

Though  Ellen  was  happy,  it  was  a  sober  kind  of  happiness ; — 
the  sun  shining  behind  a  cloud.  And  if  others  thought  her  so,  it 
was  not  because  she  laughed  loudly  or  wore  a  merry  face. 

"  I  can't  help  but  think,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  "  that  that  child 
has  something  more  to  make  her  happy  than  what  she  gets  in  this 
world." 

There  was  a  quilting  party  gathered  that  afternoon  at  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt's  house. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  neighbour,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse  ;  "  no 
body  ever  found  enough  here  to  make  him  happy  yet." 

"  Well  I  don't  want  to  see  a  prettier  girl  than  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Lowndes; — "you'll  never  catch  her,  working  at  home  or  riding 
along  on  that  handsome  little  critter  of  hers,  that  she  ha' n't  a 
pleasant  look  and  a  smile  for  you,  and  as  pretty  behaved  as  can  be. 
I  never  see  her  look  sorrowful  but  once." 

"  Ain't  that  a  pretty  horse  ?"  said  Mirny  Lawson. 

"  I've  seen  her  look  sorrowful  though,"  said  Sarah  Lowndes; 
"  I've  been  up  at  the  house  when  Miss  Fortune  was  hustling  every 
body  round,  and  as  sharp  as  vinegar,  and  you'd  think  it  would  take 
Job's  patience  to  stand  it ; — and  for  all  there  wouldn't  be  a  bit  of 
crossness  in  that  child's  face, — she'd  go  round,  and  not  say  a  word 
that  wasn't  just  so; — you'd  ha'  thought  her  bread  was  all  spread 


384  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

with  honey  ;  and  every  body  knows  it  ain't.  I  don't  see  how  she 
could  do  it,  for  my  part.  I  know  /couldn't." 

"  Ah,  neighbour,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse,  "  Ellen  looks  higher  than  to 
please  her  aunt ;  she  tries  to  please  her  God ;  and  one  can  bear 
people's  words  or  looks  when  one  is  pleasing  him. — She  is  a  dear 
child!" 

"And  there's  'Brahm,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt, — "he  thinks  the 
hull  world  of  her.  I  never  see  him  take  so  to  any  one.  There 
ain't  an  airthly  thing  he  wouldn't  do  to  please  her.  If  she  was 
his  own  child  I've  no  idee  he  could  set  her  up  more  than  he  does." 

"Very  well!"  said  Nancy  coming  up, — "good  reason!  Ellen 
don't  set  him  up  any,  does  she?  I  wish  you'd  just  seen  her  once, 
the  time  when  Miss  Fortune  was  abed, — the  way  she'd  look  out 
for  him  !  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  as  good  as  at  home  in  that  house  sure 
enough;  whoever' s  down  stairs." 

"  Bless  her  dear  little  heart !"   said  his  mother. 

"  A  good  name  is  better  than  precious  ointment." 

August  had  come,  and  John  was  daily  expected  home.  One 
morning  Miss  Fortune  was  in  the  lower  kitchen,  up  to  the  elbows 
in  making  a  rich  fall  cheese ;  Ellen  was  busy  up  stairs,  when  her 
aunt  shouted  to  her  to  "  come  and  see  what  was  all  that  splashing 
and  crashing  in  the  garden."  Ellen  ran  out. 

"  Oh,  aunt  Fortune,"  said  she, — "  Timothy  has  broken  down  the 
fence  and  got  in." 

"  Timothy  1"   said  Miss  Fortune,—"  what  Timothy  ?" 

u  Why  Timothy,  the  near  ox,"  said  Ellen  laughing  ; — "  he  has 
knocked  down  the  fence  over  there  where  it  was  low,  you  know." 

"  The  near  ox  !"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "  I  wish  he  warn't  quite 
so  near  this  time.  Mercy !  he'll  be  at  the  corn  and  over  every 
thing.  Run  and  drive  him  into  the  barnyard,  can't  you?" 

But  Ellen  stood  still  and  shook  her  head.  "He  wouldn't  stir 
for  me,"  she  said ; — "  and  besides  I  am  as  afraid  of  that  ox  as  can 
be.  If  it  was  Clover  I  wouldn't  mind." 

"  But  he'll  have  every  bit  of  the  corn  eaten  up  in  five  minutes ! 
Where's  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  I  heard  him  say  he  was  going  home  till  noon,"  said  Ellen. 

"  And  Sam  Larkens  is  gone  to  mill — and  Johnny  Low  is  laid  up 
with  the  shakes.  Very  careless  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt!"  said  Miss 
Fortune,  drawing  her  arms  out  of  the  cheese-tub  wringing  off  the 
whey, — "  I  wish  he'd  mind  his  own  oxen.  There  was  no  business 
to  be  a  low  place  in  the  fence  !  Well  come  along  !  you  ain't  afraid 
with  me,  I  suppose." 

Ellen  followed,  at  a  respectful  distance.  Miss  Fortune  however 
feared  the  face  of  neither  man  nor  beast ;  she  pulled  up  a  bean 
pole,  and  made  such  a  show  of  fight  that  Timothy  after  looking  at 
her  a  little,  fairly  turned  tail,  and  marched  out  at  the  breach  he 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  385 

had  made.  Miss  Fortune  went  after,  and  rested  not  till  she  had 
driven  him  quite  into  the  meadow  ; — get  him  into  the  barnyard  she 
could  not. 

"You  ain't  worth  a  straw,  Ellen!"  said  she  when  she  came 
back; — "couldn't  you  ha'  headed  him  and  driv'  him  into  the 
barnyard  ?  Now  that  plaguy  beast  will  just  be  back  again  by  the 
time  I  get  well  to  work.  He  ha' n't  done  much  mischief  yet — 
there's  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  salary  he's  made  a  pretty  mess  of;  I'm 
glad  on't!  He  should  ha'  put  potatoes,  as  I  told  him.  I  don't 
know  what's  to  be  done — I  can't  be  leaving  my  cheese  to  run  and 
mind  the  garden  every  minute,  if  it  was  full  of  Timothys  ;  and 
you'd  be  scared  if  a  mosquito  flew  at  you ; — you  had  better  go 
right  off  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  fetch  him  straight  home — serve 
him  right !  he  has  no  business  to  leave  things  so.  Run  along, — 
and  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under  your  feet !" 

Ellen  wisely  thought  her  pony's  feet  would  do  the  business 
quicker.  She  ran  and  put  on  her  gingham  dress  and  saddled  and 
bridled  the  Brownie  in  three  minutes  ;  but  before  setting  off  she 
had  to  scream  to  her  aunt  that  Timothy  was  just  coming  round  the 
corner  of  the  barn  again ;  and  Miss  Fortune  rushed  out  to  the 
garden  as  Ellen  and  the  Brownie  walked  down  to  the  gate. 

The  weather  was  tine,  and  Ellen  thought  with  herself  it  was  an 
ill  wind  that  blew  no  good.  She  was  getting  a  nice  ride  in  the 
early  morning,  that  she  would  not  have  had  but  for  Timothy's 
lawless  behaviour.  To  ride  at  that  time  was  particularly  pleasant 
and  rare ;  and  forgetting  how  she  had  left  poor  Miss  Fortune  be 
tween  the  ox  and  the  cheese-tub,  Ellen  and  the  Brownie  cantered 
on  in  excellent  spirits. 

She  looked  in  vain  as  she  passed  his  grounds  to  see  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  in  the  garden  or  about  the  barn.  She  went  on  to  the  little 
gate  of  the  courtyard,  dismounted,  and  led  the  Brownie  in.  Here 
she  was  met  by  Nancy  who  came  running  from  the  way  of  the 
barnyard. 

"How  d'ye  do,  Nancy?"  said  Ellen; — "  where' s  Mr.  Van 
Brunt?" 

"Goodness!  Ellen! — what  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — where  is  he?" 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt! — he's  out  in  the  barn, — but  he's  used  him 
self  up."  \  v  : 

"  Used  himself  up  !   what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Why  he's  fixed  himself  in  fine  style;  he's  fell  through  the 
trap-door  and  broke  his  leg." 

"  Oh,  Nancy  !"  screamed  Ellen,— "  he  hasn't !  how  could  he?" 

"Why  easy  enough  if  he  didn't  look  where  he  was  going, — 
there's  so  much  hay  on  the  floor.  But  it's  a  pretty  bad  place  to 
fall." 

B        z  33 


386  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  How  do  you  know  his  leg  is  broken  ?" 

"  'Cause  he  says  so,  and  any  body  with  eyes  can  see  it  must  be. 
I'm  going  over  to  Hitchcock's  to  get  somebody  to  come  and  help 
in  with  him  j  for  you  know  me  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  ain't  Sam 
sons." 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  She's  out  there — in  a  terrible  to  do." 

Nancy  sped  on  to  the  Hitchcock's;  and  greatly  frightened  and 
distressed  Ellen  ran  over  to  the  barn,  trembling  like  an  aspen.  Mr. 


Van  Brunt  was  lying  in  the  lower  floor,  just  where  he  had  fallen  ; 
one  leg  doubled  under  him  in  such  a  way  as  left  no  doubt  it  must 
be  broken.  He  had  lain  there  some  time  before  any  one  found 
him ;  and  on  trying  to  change  his  position  when  he  saw  his 
mother's  distress,  he  had  fainted  from  pain.  She  sat  by  weeping 
most  bitterly.  Ellen  could  bear  but  one  look  at  Mr.  Van  Brunt ; 
that  one  sickened  her.  She  went  up  to  his  poor  mother  and  get 
ting  down  on  her  knees  by  her  side  put  both  arms  round  her 
neck. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  387 

"  Dont  cry  so,  dear  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,"  (Ellen  was  crying  so  she 
could  hardly  speak  herself,)— "  pray  don't  do  so  !— he'll  be  better 
—Oh,  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"Oh,  ain't  it  dreadful!"  said  poor  Mrs.  Van  Brunt;— "oh, 
'Brahm  !  'Brahm  !  my  son  ! — the  best  son  that  ever  was  to  me — oh, 
to  see  him  there — ain't  it  dreadful  ?  he's  dying  !" 

"  Oh,  no  he  isn't,"  said  Ellen,—"  oh,  no  he  isn't !— what  shall  we 
do,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt?— what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"The  doctor!"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt, — "he  said  '  send  for  the 
doctor;' — but  I  can't  go,  and  there's  nobody  to  send.  Oh,  he'll 
die  ! — oh,  my  dear  'Brahm  !  I  wish  it  was  me  1" 

"  What  doctor?"  said  Ellen  ;— "  I'll  find  somebody  to  go  ;  what 
doctor  ?' '  • 

"Dr.  Gibson,  he  said;  but  he's  away  off  to  Thirlwall ;  and  he's 
been  lying  here  all  the  morning  a' ready !— nobody  found  him— he 
couldn't  make  us  hear.  Oh,  isn't  it  dreadful !" 


got  tne  .Brownie  nere  and  I'll  ride  over  to  Mrs.  Hitchcock's  and 

get  somebody  to  go  right  away  for  the  doctor.     I  won't  be  lon°-, 

we'll  have  him  here  in  a  little  while !  don't  feel  so  bad !" 

"You're  a  dear  blessed  darling  !"  said  the  old  lady,  hugging  and 
kissing  her, — "if  ever  there  was  one.  Make  haste  dear,  if  you 
love  him  ! — he  loves  you." 

Ellen  stayed  but  to  give  her  another  kiss.  Trembling  so  that 
she  could  hardly  stand  she  made  her  way  back  to  the  house  led 
out  the  Brownie  again,  and  set  off  full  speed  for  Mrs.  Hitchcock's. 
It  was  well  her  pony  was  sure-footed,  for  letting  the  reins  hang 
Ellen  bent  over  his  neck  crying  bitterly,  only  urging  him  now  and 
then  to  greater  speed ;  till  at  length  the  feeling  that  she  had  some 
thing  to  do  came  to  her  help.  She  straightened  herself,  gathered 
up  her  reins,  and  by  the  time  she  reached  Mrs.  Hitchcock's  was 
looking  calm  again,  though  very  sad  and  very  earnest.  She  did 
not  alight,  but  stopped  before  the  door  and  called  Jenny.  Jenny 
came  out,  expressing  her  pleasure. 

"Dear  Jenny,"  said  Ellen,— « isn't  there  somebody  here  that 
will  go  right  off  to  Thirlwall  for  Dr.  Gibson  ?  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has 
broken  his  leg,  I  am  afraid,  and  wants  the  doctor  directly  " 

"Why  dear  Ellen,"  said  Jenny,  "the  men  have  just  gone  off 
this  minute  to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's.  Nancy  was  here  for  them  to 
come  and  help  move  him  in  a  great  hurry.  How  did  it  happen? 
I  couldn't  get  any  thing  out  of  Nancy." 

"  He  fell  down  through  the  trap-door.  But  dear  Jenny,  isn't 
there  any  body  about?  Oh,"  said  Ellen  clasping  her  hands  — "  I 
want  somebody  to  go  for  the  doctor  so  much  !" 

"  There  ain't  a  living  soul !"  said  Jenny ;  «  two  of  the  men  and 


388  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

all  the  teams  are  'way  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill  ploughing,  and 
pa  and  June  and  Black  Bill  have  gone  over,  as  I  told  you ;  but  I 
don't  believe  they'll  be  enough.  Where's  his  leg  broke?" 

"  I  didn't  meet  them,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  came  away  only  a  little 
while  after  Nancy." 

"  They  went  'cross  lots  I  guess, — that's  how  it  was,  and  that's 
the  way  Nancy  got  the  start  of  you." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  said  Ellen.  She  could  not  bear  to  wait  till 
they  returned  ;  if  she  rode  back  she  might  miss  them  again,  besides 
the  delay ;  and  then  a  man  on  foot  would  make  a  long  journey  of 
it.  Jenny  told  her  of  a  house  or  two  where  she  might  try  for  a 
messenger ;  but  they  were  strangers  to  her  ;  she  could  not  make  up 
her  mind  to  ask  such  a  favour  of  them.  Her  friends  were  too  far 
out  of  the  way. 

"I'll  go  myself!"  she  said  suddenly.  "Tell  'em,  dear  Jenny, 
will  you,  that  I  have  gone  for  Dr.  Gibson  and  that  I'll  bring 
him  back  as  quick  as  ever  I  can.  I  know  the  road  to  Thirl- 
wall." 

"  But  Ellen  !  you  mustn't,"  said  Jenny  ; — "  I  am  afraid  to  have 
you  go  all  that  way  alone.  Wait  till  the  men  come  back, — they 
won't  be  long." 

"No  I  can't,  Jenny,"  said  Ellen, — "I  can't  wait;  I  must  go. 
You  needn't  be  afraid.  Tell  'em  I'll  be  as  quick  as  I  can." 

"  But  see,  Ellen  !"  cried  Jenny  as  she  was  moving  off, — "  I  don't 
like  to  have  you  !" 

"  I  must,  Jenny.     Never  mind." 

"  But  see,  Ellen  !"  cried  Jenny  again, — "  if  you  will  go — if  you 
don't  find  Dr.  Gibson  just  get  Dr.  Marsh  chalk, — he's  every  bit  as 
good  and  some  folks  think  he's  better; — he'll  do  just  as  well. 
Good-by!" 

Ellen  nodded  and  rode  off.  There  was  a  little  fluttering  of  the 
heart  at  taking  so  much  upon  herself;  she  had  never  been  to  Thirl- 
wall  but  once  since  the  first  time  she  saw  it.  But  she  thought  of 
Mr.  Van  Brunt,  suffering  for  help  which  could  not  be  obtained,  and 
it  was  impossible  for  her  to  hesitate.  "I  am  sure  I  am  doing 
right,"  she  thought, — "and  what  is  there  to  be  afraid  of?  If  I 
ride  two  miles  alone,  why  shouldn't  I  four? — And  I  am  doing 
right — God  will  take  care  of  me."  Ellen  earnestly  asked  him  to 
do  so  ;  and  after  that  she  felt  pretty  easy.  "  Now  dear  Brownie," 
said  she,  patting  his  neck, — "  you  and  I  have  work  to  do  to-day  ; 
behave  like  a  good  little  horse  as  you  are."  The  Brownie  answered 
with  a  little  cheerful  kind  of  neigh,  as  much  as  to  say,  Never  fear 
me  ! — They  trotted  on  nicely. 

But  nothing  could  help  that's  being  a  disagreeable  ride.  Do 
what  she  would,  Ellen  felt  a  little  afraid  when  she  found  herself  on 
a  long  piece  of  road  where  she  had  never  been  alone  before.  There 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  389 

were  not  many  houses  on  the  way ;  the  few  there  were  looked 
strange ;  Ellen  did  not  know  exactly  where  she  was,  or  how  near 
the  end  of  her  journey ;  it  seemed  a  long  one.  She  felt  rather 
lonely ; — a  little  shy  of  meeting  people,  and  yet  a  little  unwilling 
to  have  the  intervals  between  them  so  very  long.  She  repeated  to 
herself,  "I  am  doing  right — G-od  will  take  care  of  me," — still 
there  was  a  nervous  trembling  at  heart.  Sometimes  she  would  pat 
her  pony's  neck  and  say,  "Trot  on,  dear  Brownie!  we'll  soon  be 
there!" — byway  of  cheering  herself;  for  certainly  the  Brownie 
needed  no  cheering,  and  was  trotting  on  bravely.  Then  the  thought 
of  Mr.  Van  Brunt  as  she  had  seen  him  lying  on  the  barn-floor, 
made  her  feel  sick  and  miserable ;  many  tears  fell  during  her  ride 
when  she  remembered  him.  "Heaven  will  be  a  good  place," 
thought  little  Ellen  as  she  went ; — "  there  will  be  no  sickness,  no 
pain,  no  sorrow ;  but  Mr.  Van  Brunt ! — I  wonder  if  he  is  fit  to  go 
to  heaven  ?' ' — This  was  a  new  matter  of  thought  and  uneasiness, 
not  now  for  the  first  time  in  Ellen's  mind ;  and  so  the  time  passed 
till  she  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  little  river  and  saw  the  houses 
of  Thirlwall  stretching  away  in  the  distance.  Then  she  felt  com 
fortable. 

Long  before,  she  had  bethought  her  that  she  did  not  know  where 
to  find  Dr.  Gibson,  and  had  forgotten  to  ask  Jenny.  For  one  instant 
Ellen  drew  bridle,  but  it  was  too  far  to  go  back,  and  she  recollected 
any  body  could  tell  her  where  the  doctor  lived.  When  she  got  to 
Thirlwall  however  Ellen  found  that  she  did  not  like  to  ask  any 
body  ;  she  remembered  her  old  friend  Mrs.  Forbes  of  the  Star  inn, 
and  resolved  she  would  go  there  in  the  first  place.  She  rode  slowly 
up  the  street,  and  looking  carefully  till  she  came  to  the  house. 
There  was  no  mistaking  it ;  there  was  the  very  same  big  star  over 
the  front  door  that  had  caught  her  eye  from  the  coach-window,  and 
there  was  the  very  same  boy  or  man,  Sam,  lounging  on  the  side 
walk.  Ellen  reigned  up  and  asked  him  to  ask  Mrs.  Forbes  if  she 
would  be  so  good  as  to  come  out  to  her  for  one  minute.  Sam  gave 
her  along  Yankee  look  and  disappeared,  coming  back  again  directly 
with  the  landlady. 

"  How  d'ye  do.  Mrs.  Forbes  ?"  said  Ellen,  holding  out  her  hand  ; 
— "don't  you  know  me?  I  am  Ellen  Montgomery — that  you 
were  so  kind  to,  and  gave  me  bread  and  milk, — when  I  first  came 
here, — Miss  Fortune's " 

"Oh,  bless  your  dear  little  heart,"  cried  the  landlady;  "don't 
I  know  you  !  and  ain't  I  glad  to  see  you  !  I  must  have  a  kiss.  Bless 
you !  I  couldn't  mistake  you  in  Jerusalem,  but  the  sun  was  in  my 
eyes  in  that  way  I  was  a'most  blind.  But  ain't  you  grown  though  ! 
Forget  you  ?  I  guess  I  ha'n't !  there's  one  o'  your  friends  wouldn't 
let  me  do  that  in  a  hurry  ;  if  I  ha'n't  seen  you  I've  heered  on  you. 
But  what  are  you  sitting  there  in  the  sun  for?  come  in — come  in 

38* 


390  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

• 

— and  I'll  give  you  something  better  than  bread  and  milk  this  time. 
Come !  jump  down." 

"Oh,  I  can't,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  said  Ellen, — "I  am  in  a  great 
hurry ; — Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  broken  his  leg,  and  I  want  to  find  the 
doctor." 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt !"  cried  the  landlady.  "  Broken  his  leg  !  The 
land's  sakes  !  how  did  he  do  that?  he  too  !" 

"  He  fell  down  through  the  trap-door  in  the  barn  ;  and  I  want 
to  get  Dr.  Gibson  as  soon  as  I  can  to  come  to  him.  Where  does 
he  live,  Mrs.  Forbes?" 

"Dr.  Gibson?  you  won't  catch  him  to  hum,  dear;  he's  flying 
round  somewheres.  But  how  come  the  trap-door  to  be  open  ?  and 
how  happened  Mr.  Van  Brunt  not  to  see  it  afore  he  put  his  foot  in 
it?  Dear!  I  declare  I'm  real  sorry  to  hear  you  tell.  How  hap 
pened  it,  darlin'  ?  I'm  cur'ous  to  hear." 

"  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  oh,  where  shall 
I  find  Dr.  Gibson  ?  Do  tell  me  ! — he  ought  to  be  there  now ; — oh, 
help  me  !  where  shall  I  go  for  him  ?" 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  said  the  landlady  stepping  back  a  pace, — "  I 
don'  know  as  I  can  tell — there  ain't  no  sort  o'  likelihood  that  he's 
to  hum  at  this  time  o'  day — Sam  !  you  lazy  feller,  you  ha' n't  got 
nothing  to  do  but  to  gape  at  folks,  ha'  you  seen  the  doctor  go  by 
this  forenoon?" 

"I  seen  him  go  down  to  Mis'  Perriman's,"  said  Sam, — "Mis' 
Perriman  was  a  dyin' — Jim  Barstow  said." 

"  How  long  since?"   said  his  mistress. 

But  Sam  shuffled  and  shuffled,  looked  every  way  but  at  Ellen  or 
Mrs.  Forbes,  and  "  didn'  know." 

"Well  then,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes  turning  to  Ellen, — "I  don' 
know  but  you  might  about  as  well  go  down  to  the  post-office — but 
if  /was  you,  I'd  just  get  Dr.  Marshchalk  instead  !  he's  a  smarter 
man  than  Dr.  Gibson  any  day  in  the  year;  and  he  ain't  quite  so 
awful  high  neither,  and  that's  something.  Vd  get  Dr.  Marshchalk  ; 
they  say  there  ain't  the  like  o'  him  in  the  country  for  settin'  bones  ; 
it's  quite  a  gift ; — he  takes  to  it  natural  like." 

But  Ellen  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  wanted  Dr.  Gibson,  and  if  she 
could  she  must  find  him. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  ;Forbes,  "every  one  has  their  fancies; — / 
wouldn't  let  Dr.  Gibson  come  near  me  with  a  pair  of  tongs; — but 
any  how  if  you  must  have  him,  your  best  way  is  to  go  right 
straight  down  to  the  post-office  and  ask  for  him  there, — maybe 
you'll  catch  him." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen; — "where  is  the  post-office?" 

"It's  that  white-faced  house  down  street,"  said  the  landlady, 
pointing  with  her  finger  where  Ellen  saw  no  lack  of  white-faced 
houses, — "you  see  that  big  red  store  with  the  man  standing  out 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  391 

in  front? — the  next  white  house  below  that  is  Mis'  Perriman's  ; 
just  run  right  in  and  ask  for  Dr.  Gibson.  Good-by,  dear,  I'm  real 
sorry  you  can't  come  in; — that  first  white  house." 

Glad  to  get  free,  Ellen  rode  smartly  down  to  the  post-office. 
Nobody  before  the  door ;  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  get  off 
here  and  go  in  ;  she  did  not  know  the  people  either.  "  Never 
mind !  wait  for  me  a  minute,  dear  Brownie,  like  a  good  little  horse 
as  you  are !" 

No  fear  of  the  Brownie.  He  stood  as  if  he  did  not  mean  to 
budge  again  in  a  century.  At  first  going  in  Ellen  saw  nobody  in 
the  post-office ;  presently,  at  an  opening  in  a  kind  of  boxed-up 
place  in  one  corner  a  face  looked  out  and  asked  what  was  wanted. 

"Is  Dr.  Gibson  here?" 

"No,"  said  the  owner  of  the  face,  with  a  disagreeable  kind  of 
smile. 

"  Isn't  this  Miss  Perriman's  house?" 

"  You  are  in  the  right  box,  my  dear,  and  no  mistake,"  said  the 
young  man, — "but  then  it  ain't  Dr.  Gibson's  house,  you  know." 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  where  I  can  find  him  ?" 

"  Can't  indeed — the  doctor  never  tells  me  where  he  is  going,  and 
I  never  ask  him.  I  am  sorry  I  didn't  this  morning,  for  your  sake." 

The  way,  and  the  look,  made  the  words  extremely  disagreeable, 
and  furthermore  Ellen  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  neither 
was  new  to  her.  Where  had  she  seen  the  man  before  ?  she  puz 
zled  herself  to  think.  Where  but  in  a  dream  had  she  seen  that 
bold  ill-favoured  face,  that  horrible  smile,  that  sandy  hair, — she 
knew  !  It  was  Mr.  Saunders,  the  man  who  had  sold  her  the  merino 
at  St.  Clair  and  Fleury's.  She  knew  him ;  and  she  was  very  sorry 
to  see  that  he  knew  her.  All  she  desired  now  was  to  get  out  of 
the  house  and  away  ;  but  on  turning  she  saw  another  man,  older 
and  respectable-looking,  whose  face  encouraged  her  to  ask  again  if 
Dr.  Gibson  was  there.  He  was  not,  the  man  said ;  he  had  been 
there  and  gone. 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  should  be  likely  to  find  him,  sir?" 

"  No,  I  don't,"  said  he  ;— "  who  wants  him  ?" 

"  I  want  to  see  him,  sir." 

«  For  yourself  ?" 

"No,  sir;  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  broken  his  leg  and  wants  Dr. 
Gibson  to  come  directly  and  set  it." 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt!"   said  he, — "  Farmer  Van   Brunt  that  lives 
down  toward  the  Cat's  back  ?    I'm  very  sorry  !    How  did  it  happen  ?" 
Ellen  told  as  shortly  as  possible,  and  again  begged  to  know  where 
she  might  look  for  Dr.  Gibson. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  the  best  plan  I  can  think  of  will  be  for  you 
— How  did  you  come  here  ?" 
"  I  came  on  horseback,  sir." 


392  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Ah — well — the  best  plan  will  be  for  you  to  ride  up  to  his 
house;  maybe  he'll  have  left  word  there,  and  anyhow  you  can 
leave  word  for  him  to  come  down  as  soon  as  he  gets  home.  Do 
you  know  where  the  doctor  lives  ?" 

«  No,  sir." 

"  Come  here,"  said  he,  pulling  her  to  the  door, — "  you  can't  see 
it  from  here ;  but  you  must  ride  up  street  till  you  have  passed  two 
churches,  one  on  the  right  hand  first,  and  then  a  good  piece  be 
yond  you'll  come  to  another  red  brick  one  on  the  left  hand; — 
and  Dr.  Gibson  lives  in  the  next  block  but  one  after  that,  on  the 
other  side ; — any  body  will  tell  you  the  house.  Is  that  your 
horse?" 

"  Yes,  sir.     I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you.'* 

"  Well  I  will  say  !— if  you  ha' n't  the  prettiest  fit  out  in  Thirl- 
wall — shall  I  help  you  ?  will  you  have  a  cheer?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  sir;  I'll  bring  him  up  to  this  step  ;  it  will 
do  just  as  well.  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her  thanks ;  he  was  all  eyes ;  and 
with  his  clerk  stood  looking  after  her  till  she  was  out  of  sight. 

Poor  Ellen  found  it  a  long  way  up  to  the  doctor's.  The  post- 
office  was  near  the  lower  end  of  the  town  and  the  doctor's  house 
was  near  the  upper ;  she  passed  one  church,  and  then  the  other, 
but  there  was  a  long  distance  between,  or  what  she  thought  so. 
Happily  the  Brownie  did  not  seem  tired  at  all ;  his  little  mistress 
was  tired  and  disheartened  too.  And  there,  all  this  time,  was  poor 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  lying  without  a  doctor !  She  could  not  bear  to 
think  of  it. 

She  jumped  down  when  she  came  to  the  block  she  had  been 
told  of,  and  easily  found  the  house  where  Dr.  Gibson  lived.  She 
knocked  at  the  door.  A  grey-haired  woman  with  a  very  dead-and- 
alive  face  presented  herself.  Ellen  asked  for  the  doctor. 

"  He  ain't  to  hum." 

"  When  will  he  be  at  home  ?" 

"  Couldn't  say." 

"  Before  dinner  ?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head — "  Guess  not  till  late  in  the  day." 

"  Where  is  he  gone  ?" 

"He  is  gone  to  Babcock — gone  to  '  attend  a  consummation,'  I! 
guess,  he  told  me — Babcock  is  a  considerable  long  way." 

Ellen  thought  a  minute. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Dr.  Marshchalk  lives  ?"  i 

"  I  guess  you'd  better  wait  till  Dr.  Gibson  comes  back,  ha'n't ' 
you?"  said  the  woman  coaxingly  ; — "he'll  be  along  by  and  by. 
If  you'll  leave  me  your  name  I'll  give  it  to  him." 

"  I  cannot  wait,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  am  in  a  dreadful  hurry.  Will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  where  Dr.  Marshchalk  lives  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  393 

"  Well — if  so  be  you're  in  such  a  takin'  you  can't  wait — you 
know  where  Miss  Forbes  lives?" 

"  At  the  inn  ?— the  Star— yes." 

"  He  lives  a  few  doors  this  side  o'  her'n ;  you'll  know  it  the  first 
minute  you  set  your  eyes  on  it— rit's  painted  a  bright  yaller." 

Ellen  thanked  her,  once  more  mounted,  and  rode  down  the 
street. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

And  he  had  ridden  o'er  dale  and  down 

By  eight  o'clock  in  the  day, 
When  he  was  ware  of  a  bold  Tanner, 

Came  riding  along  the  way. 

OLD  BALLAD. 

THE  yellow  door,  as  the  old  woman  had  said,  was  not  to  be  mis 
taken.  Again  Ellen  dismounted  and  knocked  ;  then  she  heard  a 
slow  step  coming  along  the  entry,  and  the  pleasant  kind  face  of 
Miss  Janet  appeared  at  the  open  door.  It  was  a  real  refreshment, 
and  Ellen  wanted  one. 

"  Why  it's  dear  little — ain't  it? — her  that  lives  down  to  Miss 
Fortune  Emerson's  ? — yes,  it  is  ; — come  in,  dear  ;  I'm  very  glad  to 
see  you.  How's  all  at  your  house .?" 

"  Is  the  doctor  at  home,  ma'am  ?" 

"  No  dear,  he  ain't  to  home  just  this  minute,  but  he'll  be  in 
directly ;  Come  in  ; — is  that  your  horse  ? — -just  hitch  him  to  the 
post  there  so  he  won't  run  away,  and  come  right  in.  Who  did  you 
come  along  with?" 

"  Nobody,  ma'am  ;  I  came  alone,"  said  Ellen  while  she  obeyed 
Miss  Janet's  directions. 

"  Alone  ! — on  that  'ere  little  skittish  creeter  ? — he's  as  handsome 
as  a  picture  too — why  do  tell  if  you  warn't  afraid?  it  a'most  scares 
me  to  think  of  it." 

"  I  was  a  little  afraid,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  followed  Miss  Janet 
along  the  entry, — "  but  I  couldn't  help  that.  You  think  the  doc 
tor  will  soon  be  in,  ma'am  ?" 

"Yes,  dear,  sure  of  it,"  said  Miss  Janet,  kissing  Ellen  and 
taking  off  her  bonnet; — "  he  won't  be  five  minutes,  for  it's  a'most 
dinner  time.  What's  the  matter  dear?  is  Miss  Fortune  sick 
again?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  sadly, — "  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  fallen 
through  the  trap-door  in  the  barn  and  broken  his  leg." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  the  old  lady  with  a  face  of  real  horror, — ayou 
don't  tell  me  !  Fell  through  the  trap-door  !  and  he  ain't  a  light 


394  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

weight  neither ; — oh,  that  is  a  lamentable  event !  And  how  is  the 
poor  old  mother,  dear?" 

"  She  is  very  much  troubled,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  crying  at  the 
remembrance  ; — "  and  he  has  been  lying  ever  since  early  this 
morning  without  anybody  to  set  it ;  I  have  been  going  round  and 
round  for  a  doctor  this  ever  so  long." 

"  Why,  warn't  there  nobody  to  come  but  you,  you  poor  lamb?" 
said  Miss  Janet. 

"No,  ma'am  ;  nobody  quick  enough;  and  I  had  the  Brownie 
there,  and  so  I  came." 

"Well,  cheer  up,  dear!  the  doctor  will  be  here  now  and  we'll 
send  him  right  off;  he  won't  be  long  about  his  dinner,  I'll  engage. 
Come  and  set  in  this  big  cheer — do  ! — it'll  rest  you ;  I  see  you're 
a'most  tired  out,  and  it  ain't  a  wonder.  There — don't  that  feel 
better?  now  I'll  give  you  a  little  sup  of  dinner,  for  you  won't  want 
to  swallow  it  at  the  rate  Leander  will  his'n.  Dear!  dear! — to 
think  of  poor  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  He's  a  likely  man  too ; — I'm  very 
sorry  for  him  and  his  poor  mother.  A  kind  body  she  is  as  ever  the 
sun  shined  upon." 

"  And  so  is  he,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  so  I  dare  say,"  said  Miss  Janet, — "but  I  don't  know  so 
much  about  him  ;  howsever  he's  got  every  body's  good  word  as 
far  as  I  know ; — he's  a  likely  man." 

The  little  room  in  which  Miss  Janet  had  brought  Ellen  was  very 
plainly  furnished  indeed,  but  as  neat  as  hands  could  make  it.  The 
carpet  was  as  crumbless  and  lintless  as  if  meals  were  never  taken 
there  nor  work  seen ;  and  yet  a  little  table  ready  set  for  dinner  for 
bade  the  one  conclusion,  and  a  huge  basket  of  naperies  in  one 
corner  showed  that  Miss  Janet's  industry  did  not  spend  itself  in 
housework  alone.  Before  the  fire  stood  a  pretty  good-sized  kettle, 
and  a  very  appetizing  smell  came  from  it  to  Ellen's  nose.  In  spite 
of  sorrow  and  anxiety  her  ride  had  made  her  hungry.  It  was  not 
without  pleasure  that  she  saw  her  kind  hostess  arm  herself  with  a 
deep  plate  and  tin  dipper,  and  carefully  taking  off  the  pot-cover  so 
that  no  drops  might  fall  on  the  hearth,  proceed  to  ladle  out  a 
goodly  supply  of  what  Ellen  knew  was  that  excellent  country  dish 
called  pot-pie.  Excellent  it  is  when  well  made,  and  that  was  Miss 
Janet's.  The  pieces  of  crust  were  white  and  light  like  new  bread  ; 
the  very  tit-bits  of  the  meat  she  culled  out  for  Ellen  ;  and  the 
soup  gravy  poured  over  all  would  have  met  even  Miss  Fortune's 
wishes,  from  its  just  degree  of  richness  and  exact  seasoning. 
Smoking  hot  it  was  placed  before  Ellen  on  a  little  stand  by  her 
easy  chair,  with  some  nice  bread  and  butter ;  and  presently  Miss 
Janet  poured  her  out  a  cup  of  tea;  "for,"  she  said,  "  Leander 
never  could  take  his  dinner  without  it."  Ellen's  appetite  needed 
no  silver  fork.  Tea  and  pot-pie  were  never  better  liked  ;  yet  Miss 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  395 

Janet's  enjoyment  was  perhaps  greater  still.  She  sat  talking  and 
looking  at  her  little  visitor  with  secret  but  immense  satisfaction. 

"  Have  you  heard  what  fine  doings  we're  a  going  to  have  here  by 
and  by  ?"  said  she.  "  The  doctor's  tired  of  me ;  he's  going  to  get 
a  new  housekeeper ; — he's  going  to  get  married  some  of  these  days." 

"  Is  he  !"  said  Ellen.     "  Not  to  Jenny  !" 

"  Yes  indeed  he  is — to  Jenny — Jenny  Hitchcock;  and  a  nice 
little  wife  she'll  make  him.  You're  a  great  friend  of  Jenny,  I 
know." 

"  How  soon  ?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Oh,  not  just  yet — by  and  by — after  we  get  a  little  smarted 
up,  I  guess  ; — before  a  great  while.  Don't  you  think  he'll  be  a 
happy  man  ?" 

Ellen  could  not  help  wondering,  as  the  doctor  just  then  came  in 
and  she  looked  up  at  his  unfortunate  three-cornered  face,  whether 
Jenny  would  be  a  happy  woman  ?  But  as  people  often  do,  she 
only  judged  from  the  outside ;  Jenny  had  not  made  such  a  bad 
choice  after  all. 

The  doctor  said  he  would  go  directly  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt  after  he 
had  been  over  to  Mrs.  Sibnorth's  ;  it  wouldn't  be  a  minute.  Ellen 
meant  to  ride  back  in  his  company  ;  and  having  finished  her  dinner 
waited  now  only  for  him.  But  the  one  minute  passed — two  min 
utes — ten — twenty — she  waited  impatiently,  but  he  came  not. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  must  be,"  said  his  sister, — "he's  gone  off 
without  his  dinner  calculating  to  get  it  at  Miss  Hitchcock's, — he'd 
be  glad  of  the  chance.  That's  how  it  is,  dear  ;  and  you'll  have  to 
ride  home  alone ;  I'm  real  sorry.  S'pose  you  stop  till  evening,  and 
I'll  make  the  doctor  go  along  with  you.  But  oh,  dear!  maybe  he 
wouldn't  be  able  to  neither ;  he's  got  to  go  up  to  that  tiresome  Mrs. 
Robin's;  it's  too  bad.  Well,  take  good  care  of  yourself,  darling; 
— couldn't  you  stop  till  it's  cooler? — well,  come  and  see  me  as  soon 
as  you  can  again,  but  don't  come  without  some  one  else  along ! 
Good-by  !  I  wish  I  could  keep  you." 

She  went  to  the  door  to  see  her  mount,  and  smiled  and  nodded 
her  off. 

Ellen  was  greatly  refreshed  with  her  rest  and  her  dinner;  it 
grieved  her  that  the  Brownie  had  not  fared  as  well.  All  the  re 
freshment  that  kind  words  and  patting  could  give  him,  she  gave ; 
promised  him  the  freshest  of  water  and  the  sweetest  of  hay  when 
he  should  reach  home ;  and  begged  him  to  keep  up  his  spirits  and 
hold  on  for  a  little  longer.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  the  Brownie 
understood  the  full  sense  of  her  words,  but  he  probably  knew  what 
the  kind  tones  and  gentle  hand  meant.  He  answered  cheerfully  ; 
threw  up  his  head  and  gave  a  little  neigh,  as  much  as  to  say,  he 
wasn't  going  to  mind  a  few  hours  of  sunshine ;  and  trotted  on  as 
if  he  knew  his  face  was  toward  home, — which  no  doubt  he  did. 


396  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Luckily  it  was  not  a  very  hot  day  ;  for  August,  it  was  remarkably 
cool  and  beautiful ;  indeed,  there  was  little  very  hot  weather  ever 
known  in  Thirl  wall.  Ellen's  heart  felt  easier,  now  that  her  busi 
ness  was  done  !  and  when  she  had  left  the  town  behind  her  and 
was  again  in  the  fields,  she  was  less  timid  than  she  had  been  before  ; 
she  was  going  toward  home ;  that  makes  a  great  difference ;  and 
every  step  was  bringing  her  nearer.  "  I  am  glad  I  came  after  all," 
she  thought; — "  but  I  hope  I  shall  never  have  to  do  such  a  thing 
again.  But  I  am  glad  I  came." 

She  had  no  more  than  crossed  the  little  bridge,  however,  when 
she  saw  what  brought  her  heart  into  her  mouth.  It  was  Mr.  Saun- 
ders,  lolling  under  a  tree.  What  could  he  have  come  there  for  at 
that  time  of  day  ?  A  vague  feeling  crossed  her  mind  that  if  she 
could  only  get  past  him  she  should  pass  a  danger ;  she  thought  to 
ride  by  without  seeming  to  see  him,  and  quietly  gave  the  Brownie 
a  pat  to  make  him  go  faster.  But  as  she  drew  near  Mr.  Saunders 
rose  up,  came  to  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  taking  hold  of  her 
bridle,  checked  her  pony's  pace  so  that  he  could  walk  alongside ; 
to  Ellen's  unspeakable  dismay. 

"  What's  kept  you  so  long?"  said  he  ; — "  I've  been  looking  out 
for  you  this  great  while.  Had  hard  work  to  find  the  doctor?" 

"Won't  you  please  to  let  go  of  my  horse,"  said  Ellen,  her 
heart  beating  very  fast ; — "  I  am  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  home  ; — 
please  don't  keep  me." 

"  Oh,  I  want  to  see  you  a  little,"  said  Mr.  Saunders ; — "  you 
ain't  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  me  as  that  comes  to,  are 
you?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  It's  quite  a  long  time  since  I  saw  you  last,"  said  he  ; — "how 
have  the  merinoes  worn?" 

Ellen  could  not  bear  to  look  at  his  face  and  did  not  see  the  ex 
pression  which  went  with  these  words,  yet  she  felt  it. 

"They  have  worn  very  well,"  said  she,  "but  I  want  to  get 
home  very  much — please  let  me  go." 

"Not  yet — not  yet,"  said  he, — "  oh,  no,  not  yet.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you  ;  why,  what  are  you  in  such  a  devil  of  a  hurry  for  ?  I 
came  out  on  purpose ;  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  have  all  my 
long  waiting  for  nothing  ?" 

Ellen  did  not  know  what  to  say ;  her  heart  sprang  with  a  name 
less  pang  to  the  thought,  if  she  ever  got  free  from  this !  Mean 
while  she  was  not  free. 

"  Whose  horse  is  that  you're  on  ?" 

"Mine,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Your'n  !  that's  a  likely  story.  I  guess  he  ain't  your'n,  and 
so  you  won't  mind  if  I  touch  him  up  a  little ; — I  want  to  see  how 
well  you  can  sit  on  a  horse." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  397 

Passing  his  arm  through  the  bridle  as  he  said  these  words,  Mr. 
Saunders  led  the  pony  down  to  the  side  of  the  road  where  grew  a 
clump  of  high  bushes ;  and  with  some  trouble  cut  off  a  long 
stout  sapling.  Ellen  looked  in  every  direction  while  he  was  doing 
this,  despairing,  as  she  looked,  of  aid  from  any  quarter  of  the 
broad  quiet  open  country.  Oh,  for  wings  !  But  she  could  not 
leave  the  Brownie  if  she  had  them. 

Returning  to  the  middle  of  the  road,  Mr.  Saunders  amused  him 
self  as  they  walked  along  with  stripping  off  all  the  leaves  and  little 
twigs  from  his  sapling,  leaving  it  when  done  a  very  good  imitation 
of  an  ox-whip  in  size  and  length,  with  a  fine  lash-like  point.  Ellen 
watched  him  in  an  ecstasy  of  apprehension,  afraid  alike  to  speak 
or  to  be  silent. 

""There  !  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  said  he,  giving  it  two  or 
three  switches  in  the  air  to  try  its  suppleness  and  toughness  ; — 
"  don't  that  look  like  a  whip  ?  Now  we'll  see  how  he'll  go  !" 

"  Please  don't  do  any  thing  with  it,"  said  Ellen  earnestly  ; — "  I 
never  touch  him  with  a  whip, — he  doesn't  need  it, — he  isn't  used 
to  it;  pray,  pray  do  not!" 

"  Oh,  we'll  just  tickle  him  a  little  with  it,"  said  Mr.  Saunders 
coolly, — "  I  want  to  see  how  well  you'll  sit  him  ; — just  make  him 
caper  a  little  bit." 

He  accordingly  applied  the  switch  lightly  to  the  Brownie's  heels, 
enough  to  annoy  without  hurting  him.  The  Brownie  showed 
signs  of  uneasiness,  quitted  his  quiet  pace,  and  took  to  little  starts 
and  springs  and  whisking  motions,  most  unpleasing  to  his  rider. 

"  Oh,  do  not!"  cried  Ellen,  almost  beside  herself, — "he's  very 
spirited,  and  I  don't  know  what  he  will  do  if  you  trouble  him." 

"  You  let  me  take  care  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Saunders; — "  if  he 
troubles  me  I'll  give  it  to  him  !  If  he  rears  up,  only  you  catch 
hold  of  his  mane  and  hold  on  tight,  and  you  won't  fall  off; — I 
want  to  see  him  rear." 

"But  you'll  give  him  bad  tricks!"  said  Ellen.  "Oh,  pray 
don't  do  so  !  Its  very  bad  for  him  to  be  teased.  I  am  afraid  he 
will  kick  if  you  do  so,  and  he'd  be  ruined  if  he  got  a  habit  of 
kicking.  Oh,  please  let  us  go  !"  said  she  with  the  most  acute 
accent  of  entreaty, — "  I  want  to  be  home." 

"You  keep  quiet,"  said  Mr.  Saunders  coolly  ;—"  if  he  kicks 
I'll  give  him  such  a  lathering  as  he  never  had  yet ;  he  won't  do  it 
but  once.  I  ain't  a  going  to  hurt  him,  but  I  am  a  going  to  make 
him  rear; — no,  I  won't, — I'll  make" him  leap  over  a  rail,  the  first 
bar-place  we  come  to  ;  that'll  be  prettier." 

"  Oh,  you  musn't  do  that,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  have  not  learned  to 
leap  yet ;  I  couldn't  keep  on  ;  you  musn't  do  that  if  you  please." 

"  You  just  hold  fast  and  hold  your  tongue.  Catch  hold  of  his 
ears,  and  you'll  stick  on  fast  enough;  if  you  can't  you  may  get 

34 


398  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

down,  for  I  am  going  to  make  him  take  the  leap  whether  you  will 
or  no/' 

Ellen  feared  still  more  to  get  off  and  leave  the  Brownie  to  her 
tormentor's  mercy  than  to  stay  where  she  was  and  take  her 
chance.  She  tried  in  vain,  as  well  as  she  could,  to  soothe  her 
horse ;  the  touches  of  the  whip  coming  now  in  one  place  and  now 
in  another,  and  some  of  them  pretty  sharp,  he  began  to  grow  very 
frisky  indeed ;  and  she  began  to  be  very  much  frightened  for  fear 
she  should  suddenly  be  jerked  off.  With  a  good  deal  of  presence 
of  mind,  though  wrought  up  to  a  terrible  pitch  of  excitement  and 
fear,  Ellen  gave  her  best  attention  to  keeping  her  seat  as  the 
Brownie  sprang  and  started  and  jumped  to  one  side  and  the  other; 
Mr.  Saunders  holding  the  bridle  as  loose  as  possible  so  as  give  him 
plenty  of  room.  For  some  little  time  he  amused  himself  with  this 
game,  the  horse  growing  more  and  more  irritated.  At  length  a 
smart  stroke  of  the  whip  upon  his  haunches  made  the  Brownie 
spring  in  a  way  that  brought  Ellen's  heart  into  her  mouth,  and 
almost  threw  her  off. 

"  Oh,  don't!"  cried  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears  for  the  first  time, 
— she  had  with  great  effort  commanded  them  back  until  now ; — 
"poor  Brownie! — How  can  you!  Oh,  please  let  us  go  ! — please 
let  us  go !" 

For  one  minute  she  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Be  quiet !"  said  Mr.  Saunders.  "  Here's  a  bar-place — now  for 
the  leap  !" 

Ellen  wiped  away  her  tears,  forced  back  those  that  were  coming, 
and  began  the  most  earnest  remonstrance  and  pleading  with  Mr. 
Saunders  that  she  knew  how  to  make.  He  paid  her  no  sort  of 
attention.  He  led  the  Brownie  to  the  side  of  the  road,  let  down 
all  the  bars  but  the  lower  two,  let  go  the  bridle,  and  stood  a 
little  off  prepared  with  his  whip  to  force  the  horse  to  take  the 
spring. 

"  I  tell  you  I  shall  fall,"  said  Ellen,  reining  him  back.  "  How 
can  you  be  so  cruel ! — I  want  to  go  home  !" 

"  Well,  you  ain't  a  going  home  yet.     Get  off,  if  you  are  afraid." 

But  though  trembling  in  every  nerve  from  head  to  foot,  Ellen 
fancied  the  Brownie  was  safer  so  long  as  he  had  her  on  his  back  ; 
she  would  not  leave  him.  She  pleaded  her  best,  which  Mr. 
Saunders  heard  as  if  it  was  amusing,  and  without  making  any 
answer  kept  the  horse  capering  in  front  of  the  bars,  pretending 
every  minute  he  was  going  to  whip  him  up  to  take  the  leap.  His 
object  however  was  merely  to  gratify  the  smallest  of  minds  by 
teasing  a  child  he  had  a  spite  against ;  he  had  no  intention  to  risk 
breaking  her  bones  by  a  fall  from  her  horse ;  so  in  time  he  had 
enough  of  the  bar-place ;  took  the  bridle  again  and  walked  on. 
Ellen  drew  breath  a  little  more  freely. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  399 

"  Did  you  hear  how  I  handled  your  old  gentleman  after  that 
time?"  said  Mr.  Saunders. 

Ellen  made  no  answer. 

"  No  one  ever  affronts  me  that  don't  hear  news  of  it  afterwards, 
and  so  he  found  to  his  cost.  /  paid  him  off,  to  my  heart's  content. 
I  gave  the  old  fellow  a  lesson  to  behave  in  future.  I  forgive  him 
now  entirely.  By  the  way  I've  a  little  account  to  settle  with  you 

didn't  you  ask  Mr.  Perriman  this  morning  if  Dr.  Gibson  was  in 

the  house?" 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  was,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  hadn't  I  told  you  just  before  he  warn't  there  ?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  What  did  you  do  that  for,  eh  ?     Didn't  you  believe  me  ?" 

Still  she  did  not  speak. 

"I  say !"  said  Mr.  Saunders,  touching  the  Brownie  as  he  spoke, 
— "  did  you  think  I  told  you  a  lie  about  it  ? — eh?" 

"  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  be  there,"  Ellen  forced  herself  to 
say. 

"  Then  you  didn't  believe  me?"  said  he,  always  with  that  same 
smile  upon  his  face  ;  Ellen  knew  that. 

"  Now  that  warn't  handsome  of  you — and  I'm  a  going  to  punish 
you  for  it,  somehow  or  'nother  ;  but  it  ain't  pretty  to  quarrel  with 
ladies,  so  Brownie  and  me'll  settle  it  together.  You  won't  mind 
that  I  dare  say." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  said  Ellen,  as  he  once  more  drew 
her  down  to  the  side  of  the  fence. 

"  Get  off  and  you'll  see,"  said  he,  laughing  ; — "  get  off  and  you'll 
see." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do?"  repeated  Ellen,  though  scarce  able 
to  speak  the  words. 

"  I'm  just  going  to  tickle  Brownie  a  little,  to  teach  you  to  believe 
honest  folks  when  they  speak  the  truth;  get  off!" 

"  No  I  won't,"  said  Ellen,  throwing  both  arms  round  the  neck  of 
her  pony; — "poor  Brownie  !— you  shan't  do  it.  He  hasn't  done 
any  harm,  nor  I  either ;  you  are  a  bad  man  !" 

"Get  off!"  repeated  Mr.  Saunders. 

"  I  will  not!"  said  Ellen,  still  clinging  fast. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  coolly, — "  then  I  will  take  you  off;  it  don't 
make  much  difference.  We'll  go  along  a  little  further  till  I  find  a 
nice  stone  for  you  to  sit  down  upon.  If  you  had  got  off  then  I 
wouldn't  ha'  done  much  to  him,  but  I'll  give  it  to  him  now  !  If 
he  hasn't  been  used  to  a  whip  he'll  know  pretty  well  what  it  means 
by  the  time  I  have  done  with  him ;  and  then  you  may  go  home  as 
fast  as  you  can." 

It  is  very  likely  Mr.  Saunders  would  have  been  as  good,  or  as 
bad,  as  his  word.  His  behaviour  to  Ellen  in  the  store  at  New 


400  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

York,  and  the  measures  taken  by  the  old  gentleman  who  had  be 
friended  her,  had  been  the  cause  of  his  dismissal  from  the  employ 
of  Messrs.  St.  Clair  and  Fleury.  Two  or  three  other  attempts  to 
get  into  business  had  come  to  nothing,  and  he  had  been  obliged  to 
return  to  his  native  town.  Ever  since,  Ellen  and  the  old  gentle 
man  had  lived  in  his  memory  as  objects  of  the  deepest  spite ; — the 
one  for  interfering,  the  other  for  having  been  the  innocent  cause ; 
and  he  no  sooner  saw  her  in  the  post-office  than  he  promised  him 
self  revenge,  such  revenge  as  only  the  meanest  and  most  cowardly 
spirit  could  have  taken  pleasure  in.  His  best  way  of  distressing 
Ellen,  he  found,  was  through  her  horse  ;  he  had  almost  satisfied 
himself;  but  very  naturally  his  feeling  of  spite  had  grown  stronger 
and  blunter  with  indulgence,  and  he  meant  to  wind  up  with  such  a 
treatment  of  her  pony,  real  or  seeming,  as  he  knew  would  give 
great  pain  to  the  pony's  mistress.  He  was  prevented. 

As  they  went  slowly  along,  Ellen  still  clasping  the  Brownie's 
neck  and  resolved  to  cling  to  him  to  the  last,  Mr.  Saunders  making 
him  caper  in  a  way  very  uncomfortable  to  her,  one  was  too  busy 
and  the  other  too  deafened  by  fear  to  notice  the  sound  of  fast-ap 
proaching  hoofs  behind  them.  It  happened  that  John  Humphreys 
had  passed  the  night  at  Ventnor  ;  and  having  an  errand  to  do  for 
a  friend  at  Thirlwall  had  taken  that  road,  which  led  him  but  a  few 
miles  out  of  his  way,  and  was  now  at  full  speed  on  his  way  home. 
He  had  never  made  the  Brownie's  acquaintance,  and  did  not  rec 
ognise  Ellen  as  he  came  up ;  but  in  passing  them  some  strange 
notion  crossing  his  mind  he  wheeled  his  horse  round  directly  in 
front  of  the  astonished  pair.  Ellen  quitted  her  pony's  neck,  and 
stretching  out  both  arms  toward  him  exclaimed,  almost  shrieked, 
"  Oh,  John  !  John  !  send  him  away  !  make  him  let  me  go  !" 

"  What  are  you  about,  sir  ?"  said  the  new-comer  sternly. 

"It's  none  of  your  business  !"  answered  Mr.  Saunders,  in  whom 
rage  for  the  time  overcame  cowardice. 

"  Take  your  hand  off  the  bridle  !" — with  a  slight  touch  of  the 
riding-whip  upon  the  hand  in  question. 

"Not  for  you,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Saunders  sneeringly  ; — "  I'll 
walk  with  any  lady  I've  a  mind  to.  Look  out  for  yourself!" 

"  We  will  dispense  with  your  further  attendance,"  said  John 
coolly.  "  Do  you  hear  me  ? — do  as  I  order  you  !" 

The  speaker  did  not  put  himself  in  a  passion,  and  Mr.  Saunders, 
accustomed  for  his  own  part  to  make  bluster  serve  instead  of 
prowess,  despised  a  command  so  calmly  given. — Ellen,  who  knew 
the  voice,  and  still  better  could  read  the  eye,  drew  conclusions  very 
different.  She  was  almost  breathless  with  terror.  Saunders  was 
enraged  and  mortified  at  an  interference  that  promised  to  baffle 
him ;  he  was  a  stout  young  man,  and  judged  himself  the  stronger 
of  the  two,  and  took  notice  besides  that  the  stranger  had  nothing 


"  Ellen  hardly  saw  how,  it  was  so  quick.1 


Page  401. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  401 

in  his  hand  but  a  slight  riding- whip.  He  answered  very  insolently 
and  with  an  oath ;  and  John  saw  that  he  was  taking  the  bridle  in 
his  left  hand  and  shifting  his  sapling  whip  so  as  to  bring  the  club 
end  of  it  uppermost.  The  next  instant  he  aimed  a  furious  blow  at 
his  adversary's  horse.  The  quick  eye  and  hand  of  the  rider  disap 
pointed  that  with  a  sudden  swerve.  In  another  moment,  and 
Ellen  hardly  saw  how,  it  was  so  quick, — John  had  dismounted, 
taken  Mr.  Saunders  by  the  collar,  and  hurled  him  quite  over  into 
the  gully  at  the  side  of  the  road,  where  he  lay  at  full  length  with 
out  stirring. 

"  Ride  on,  Ellen  !' '  said  her  deliverer. 

She  obeyed.  He  stayed  a  moment  to  say  to  his  fallen  adversary 
a  few  words  of  pointed  warning  as  to  ever  repeating  his  offence  ; 
then  remounted  and  spurred  forward  to  join  Ellen.  All  her  power 
of  keeping  up  was  gone,  now  that  the  necessity  was  over.  Her 
head  was  once  more  bowed  on  her  pony's  neck,  her  whole  frame 
shaking  with  convulsive  sobs ;  she  could  scarce  with  great  effort 
keep  from  crying  out  aloud. 

"  Ellie  !" — said  her  adopted  brother,  in  a  voice  that  could  hardly 
be  known  for  the  one  that  had  last  spoken.  She  had  no  words,  but 
as  he  gently  took  one  of  her  hands,  the  convulsive  squeeze  it  gave 
him  showed  the  state  of  nervous  excitement  she  was  in.  It  was 
very  long  before  his  utmost  efforts  could  soothe  her,  or  she  could 
command  herself  enough  to  tell  him  her  story.  When  at  last  told, 
it  was  with  many  tears. 

"  Oh,  how  could  he  !  how  could  he  !"  said  poor  Ellen  ; — "  how 
could  he  do  so  ! — it  was  very  hard  !" 

An  involuntary  touch  of  the  spurs  made  John's  horse  start. 

"  But  what  took  you  to  Thirlwall  alone?"  said  he; — "  you  have 
not  told  me  that  yet." 

Ellen  went  back  to  Timothy's  invasion  of  the  cabbages,  and 
gave  him  the  whole  history  of  the  morning. 

"  I  thought  when  I  was  going  for  the  doctor,  at  first,"  said  she, 
— "  and  then  afterwards  when  I  had  found  him,  what  a  good  thing 
it  was  that  Timothy  broke  down  the  garden  fence  and  got  in  this 
morning ;  for  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  I  should  not  have  gone  to 
Mr.  Van  Brunt's ; — and  then  again  after  that  I  thought,  if  he  only 
hadn't!" 

"  Little  things  often  draw  after  them  long  trains  of  circum 
stances,"  said  John, — "  and  that  shows  the  folly  of  those  people  who 
think  that  God  does  not  stoop  to  concern  himself  about  trifles ; — 
life,  and  much  more  than  life,  may  hang  upon  the  turn  of  a  hand. 
But  Ellen,  you  must  ride  no  more  alone. — Promise  me  that  you 
will  not." 

"  I  will  not  to  Thirlwall,  certainly,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  mayn't  I 
to  Alice's? — how  can  I  help  it?" 
era  34* 


402  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"Well — to  Alice's — that  is  a  safe  part  of  the  country; — but  I 
should  like  to  know  a  little  more  of  your  horse  before  trusting  you 
even  there." 

11  Of  the  Brownie  ?"  said  Ellen  ; — "  Oh,  he  is  as  good  as  he  can 
be ;  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  him  ;  he  has  no  trick  at  all ;  there 
never  was  such  a  good  little  horse." 

John  smiled.     "  How  do  you  like  mine  ?"   said  he. 

"  Is  that  your  new  one  ?  Oh,  what  a  beauty  ! — Oh,  me,  what  a 
beauty !  I  didn't  look  at  him  before.  Oh,  I  like  him  very  much  ! 
he's  handsomer  than  the  Brownie  ; — do  you  like  him  ?" 

"  Very  well ! — this  is  the  first  trial  I  have  made  of  him.  I  was 
at  Mr.  Marshman's  last  night,  and  they  detained  me  this  morning, 
or  I  should  have  been  here  much  earlier.  I  am  very  well  satisfied 
with  him,  so  far." 

"  And  if  you  had  not  been  detained  !" — said  Ellen. 

"  Yes,  Ellie — I  should  not  have  fretted  at  my  late  breakfast  and 
having  to  try  Mr.  Marshman's  favourite  mare,  if  I  had  known  what 
good  purpose  the  delay  was  to  serve.  I  wish  I  could  have  been 
here  half  an  hour  sooner,  though." 

"  Is  his  name  the  Black  Prince?"  said  Ellen,  returning  to  the 
horse. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so ;  but  you  shall  change  it,  Ellie,  if  you  can 
find  one  you  like  better." 

"  Oh,  I  cannot ! — I  like  that  very  much.  How  beautiful  he  is  ! 
Is  he  good?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  John,  smiling  ; — "  if  he  is  not  I  shall  be  at 
the  pains  to  make  him  so.  We  are  hardly  acquainted  yet." 

Ellen  looked  doubtfully  at  the  black  horse  and  his  rider,  and 
patting  the  Brownie's  neck,  observed  with  great  satisfaction  that 
he  was  very  good. 

John  had  been  riding  very  slowly  on  Ellen's  account;  they  now 
mended  their  pace.  He  saw  however  that  she  still  looked  miser 
ably,  and  exerted  himself  to  turn  her  thoughts  from  every  thing 
disagreeable.  Much  to  her  amusement  he  rode  round  her  two  or 
three  times,  to  view  her  horse  arid  show  her  his  own  ;  commended 
the  Brownie ;  praised  her  bridle  hand ;  corrected  several  things 
about  her  riding  ;  and  by  degrees  engaged  her  in  a  very  animated 
conversation.  Ellen  roused  up  ;  the  colour  came  back  to  her  cheeks ; 
and  when  they  reached  home  and  rode  round  to  the  glass  door  she 
looked  almost  like  herself. 

She  sprang  off  as  usual  without  waiting  for  any  help.  John 
scarce  saw  that  she  had  done  so,  when  Alice's  cry  of  joy  brought 
him  to  the  door,  and  from  that  together  they  went  in  to  their 
father's  study.  Ellen  was  left  alone  on  the  lawn.  Something  was 
the  matter ;  for  she  stood  with  swimming  eyes  and  a  trembling  lip, 
rubbing  her  stirrup,  which  really  needed  no  polishing,  and  forget- 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  403 

ting  the  tired  horses,  which  would  have  had  her  sympathy  at  any 
other  time.  What  was  the  matter?  Only — that  Mr.  John  had 
forgotten  the  kiss  he  always  gave  her  on  going  or  coming.  Ellen 
was  jealous  of  it  as  a  pledge  of  sistership,  and  could  not  want  it; 
and  though  she  tried  as  hard  as  she  could  to  get  her  face  in  order, 
so  that  she  might  go  in  and  meet  them,  somehow  it  seemed  to  take 
a  great  while.  She  was  still  busy  with  her  stirrup,  when  she  sud 
denly  felt  two  hands  on  her  shoulders,  and  looking  up  received  the 
very  kiss  the  want  of  which  she  had  been  lamenting.  But  John 
saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  asked  her,  she  thought  with  some 
what  of  a  comical  look,  what  the  matter  was  ?  Ellen  was  ashamed 
to  tell,  but  he  had  her  there  by  the  shoulders,  and  besides,  what 
ever  that  eye  demanded  she  never  knew  how  to  keep  back,  so  with 
some  difficulty  she  told  him. 

"  You  are  a  foolish  child,  Ellie,"  said  he  gently,  and  kissing  her 
again.  "  Run  in  out  of  the  sun  while  I  see  to  the  horses.' ' 

Ellen  ran  in,  and  told  her  long  story  to  Alice ;  and  then  feeling 
very  weary  and  weak  she  sat  on  the  sofa  and  lay  resting  in  her 
arms  in  a  state  of  the  most  entire  and  unruffled  happiness.  Alice 
however  after  a  while  transferred  her  to  bed,  thinking  with  good 
reason  that  a  long  sleep  would  be  the  best  thing  for  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Now  is  the  pleasant  time, 
The  cool,  the  silent,  save  where  silence  yields 
To  the  night-warbling  bird  ;  that  now  awake, 
Tunes  sweetest  her  love-laboured  song     now  reigns 
Full  orbed  the  moon,  and  with  more  pleasing  light 
Shadowy,  sets  off  the  face  of  things. 

MILTON. 

WHEN  Ellen  came  out  of  Alice's  room  again  it  was  late  in  the 
afternoon.  The  sun  was  so  low  that  the  shadow  of  the  house  had 
crossed  the  narrow  lawn  and  mounted  up  near  to  the  top  of  the 
trees ;  but  on  them  he  was  still  shining  brightly,  and  on  the  broad 
landscape  beyond,  which  lay  open  to  view  through  the  gap  in  the 
trees.  The  glass  door  was  open ;  the  sweet  summer  air  and  the 
sound  of  birds  and  insects  and  fluttering  leaves  floated  into  the 
room,  making  the  stillness  musical.  On  the  threshold  pussy  sat 
crouched,  with  his  forefeet  doubled  under  his  breast,  watching 
with  intense  gravity  the  operations  of  Margery,  who  was  setting 
the  table  on  the  lawn  just  before  his  eyes.  Alice  was  paring- 
peaches. 

"  Oh,  we  are  going  to  have  tea  out  of  doors,  aren't  we  !"  said 


404  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen.  "I'm  very  glad.  What  a  lovely  evening,  isn't  it?  Just 
look  at  pussy,  will  you,  Alice?  don't  you  believe  he  knows  what 
Margery  is  doing? — Why  didn't  you  call  me  to  go  along  with  you 
after  peaches  ?' ' 

"I  thought  you  were  doing  the  very  best  thing  you  possibly 
could,  Ellie,  my  dear.  How  do  you  do?" 

"  Oh,  nicely  now  !  Where's  Mr.  John?  I  hope  he  won't  ask 
for  my  last  drawing  to-night, — I  want  to  fix  the  top  of  that  tree 
before  he  sees  it." 

"  Fix  the  top  of  your  tree,  you  little  Yankee?"  said  Alice; — 
"what  do  you  think  John  would  say  to  that? — zmfix  it  you  mean  ; 
it  is  too  stiff  already,  isn't  it?" 

"Well,  what  shall  I  say?"  said  Ellen  laughing.  "lam  sorry 
that  is  Yankee,  for  I  suppose  one  must  speak  English. — I  want  to 
do  something  to  my  tree,  then. — Where  is  he,  Alice?" 

"  He  is  gone  down  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt's,  to  see  how  he  is,  and  to 
speak  to  Miss  Fortune  about  you  on  his  way  back." 

"Oh,  how  kind  of  him! — he's  very  good ;  that  is  just  what  I 
want  to  know ;  but  I  am  sorry,  after  this  long  ride " 

"  He  don't  mind  that,  Eilie.     He'll  be  home  presently." 

"  How  nice  those  peaches  look  ; — they  are  as  good  as  straw 
berries,  don't  you  think  so  ? — better, — I  don't  know  which  is  best; 
— but  Mr.  John  likes  these  best,  don't  he  ?  Now  you've  done  ! — 
shall  I  set  them  on  the  table  ? — and  here's  a  pitcher  of  splendid 
cream,  Alice  !" 

"  You  had  better  not  tell  John  so,  or  he  will  make  you  define 
splendid." 

John  came  back  in  good  time,  and  brought  word  that  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  was  doing  very  well,  so  far  as  could  be  known ;  also,  that 
Miss  Fortune  consented  to  Ellen's  remaining  where  she  was.  He 
wisely  did  not  say,  however,  that  her  consent  had  been  slow  to  gain 
till  he  had  hinted  at  his  readiness  to  provide  a  substitute  for  Ellen's 
services ;  on  which  Miss  Fortune  had  instantly  declared  she  did  not 
want  her  and  she  might  stay  as  long  as  she  pleased.  This  was  all 
that  was  needed  to  complete  Ellen's  felicity. 

"  Wasn't  your  poor  horse  too  tired  to  go  out  again  this  after 
noon,  Mr.  John?" 

"  I  did  not  ride  him,  Ellie  ;  I  took  yours." 

"The  Brownie! — did  you? — I'm  very  glad!  How  did  you 
like  him  ?  But  perhaps  he  was  tired  a  little,  and  you  couldn't  tell 
so  well  to-day." 

"  He  was  not  tired  with  any  work  you  had  given  him,  Ellie ; — 
perhaps  he  may  be  a  little  now." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Ellen,  somewhat  alarmed. 

"  I  have  been  trying  him  ;  and  instead  of  going  quietly  along 
the  road  we  have  been  taking  some  of  the  fences  in  our  way.  As 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  405 

I  intend  practising  you  at  the  bar,  I  wished  to  make  sure  in  the 
first  place  that  he  knew  his  lesson." 
"  Well,  how  did  he  do?" 

"  Perfectly  well — I  believe  he  is  a  good  little  fellow.  I  wanted 
to  satisfy  myself  if  he  was  fit  to  be  trusted  with  you ;  and  I  rather 
think  Mr.  Marshman  has  taken  care  of  that." 

The  whole  wall  of  trees  was  in  shadow  when  the  little  family 
sat  down  to  table ;  but  there  was  still  the  sun-lit  picture  behind ; 
and  there  was  another  kind  of  sunshine  in  every  face  at  the  table. 
Quietly  happy  the  whole  four,  or  at  least  the  whole  three,  were ; 
first,  in  being  together, — after  that,  in  all  things  besides.  Never 
was  tea  so  refreshing,  or  bread  and  butter  so  sweet,  or  the  song  of 
birds  so  delightsome.  When  the  birds  were  gone  to  their  nests, 
the  cricket  and  grasshopper  and  tree-toad  and  katy-did,  and  name 
less  other  songsters,  kept  up  a  concert, — nature's  own, — in  deli-  * 
cious  harmony  with  woods  and  flowers,  and  summer  breezes  and 
evening  light.  Ellen's  cup  of  enjoyment  was  running  over. 
From  one  beautiful  thing  to  another  her  eye  wandered, — from 
one  joy  to  another  her  thoughts  went, — till  her  full  heart  fixed  on 
the  Grod  who  had  made  and  given  them  all,  and  that  Redeemer 
whose  blood  had  been  their  purchase-money.  From  the  dear 
friends  beside  her,  the  best-loved  she  had  in  the  world,  she  thought 
of  the  one  dearer  yet  from  whom  death  had  separated  her ; — yet 
living  still, — and  to  whom  death  would  restore  her,  thanks  to  Him 
who  had  burst  the  bonds  of  death  and  broken  the  gates  of  the 
grave,  and  made  a  way  for  his  ransomed  to  pass  over.  And  the 
thought  of  Him  was  the  joy  fullest  of  all ! 

"  You  look  happy,  Ellie,"  said  her  adopted  brother. 
"  So  I  am,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  a  very  bright  smile. 
"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?" 
But  John  saw  it  would  not  do  to  press  his  question. 
"You  remind  me,"  said  he,  "of  some  old  fairy  story  that  my 
childish  ears  received,  in  which  the  fountains  of  the  sweet  and 
bitter  waters  of  life  were  said  to  stand  very  near  each  other,  and 
to  mingle  their  streams  but  a  little  way  from  their  source.     Your 
tears  and  smiles  seem  to  be  brothers  and  sisters ; — whenever  we 
see  one  we  may  be  sure  the  other  is  not  far  off." 

"My  dear  Jack,"  said  Alice,  laughing, — "what  an  unhappy 
simile  !  Are  brothers  and  sisters  always  found  like  that  ?" 

"I  wish  they  were,"  said  John,  sighing  and  smiling; — "but 
my  last  words  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  simile  as  you  call  it." 

When  tea  was  over,  and  Margery  had  withdrawn  the  things  and 
taken  away  the  table,  they  still  lingered  in  their  places.  It  was  far 
too  pleasant  to  go  in.  Mr.  Humphreys  moved  his  chair  to  the  side 
of  the  house,  and  throwing  a  handkerchief  over  his  head  to  defend 
him  from  the  mosquitoes,  a  few  of  which  were  buzzing  about,  he 


406  'CHE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

either  listened,  meditated,  or  slept ; — most  probably  one  of  the  two 
latter  ;  for  the  conversation  was  not  very  loud  nor  very  lively  ;  it 
was  happiness  enough  merely  to  breathe  so  near  each  other.  The 
sun  left  the  distant  fields  and  hills  ;  soft  twilight  stole  through  the 
woods,  down  the  gap,  and  over  the  plain  ;  the  grass  lost  its  green  ; 
the  wall  of  trees  grew  dark  and  dusky ;  and  very  faint  and  dim 
showed  the  picture  that  was  so  bright  a  little  while  ago.  As  they 
sat  quite  silent,  listening  to  what  nature  had  to  say  to  them,  or 
letting  fancy  and  memory  take  their  way,  the  silence  was  broken — 
hardly  broken — by  the  distinct  far-off  cry  of  a  whip-poor-will. 
Alice  grasped  her  brother's  arm,  and  they  remained  motionless, 
while  it  came  nearer,  nearer, — then  quite  near, — with  its  clear, 
wild,  shrill,  melancholy  note  sounding  close  by  them  again  and 
again, — strangely,  plaintively,  then  leaving  the  lawn,  it  was  heard 
further  and  further  off,  till  the  last  faint  "whip-poor-will,"  in  the 
far  distance,  ended  its  pretty  interlude.  It  was  almost  too  dark  to 
read  faces,  but  the  eyes  of  the  brother  and  sister  had  sought  each 
other  and  remained  fixed  till  the  bird  was  out  of  hearing  ;  then 
Alice's  hand  was  removed  to  his,  and  her  head  found  its  old  place 
on  her  brother's  shoulder. 

"  Sometimes,  John,"  said  Alice,  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  one  tie  too 
strong  to  this  world.  I  cannot  bear — as  I  ought — to  have  you 
away  from  me." 

Her  brother's  lips  were  instantly  pressed  to  her  forehead. 

"  I  may  say  to  you,  Alice,  as  Colonel  Gardiner  said  to  his  wife, 
'  we  have  an  eternity  to  spend  together !'  " 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Alice,  after  a  pause, — "  how  those  can  bear  to 
love  or  be  loved,  whose  affection  can  see  nothing  but  a  blank  be 
yond  the  grave." 

"  Few  people,  I  believe,"  said  her  brother,  "  would  come  exactly 
under  that  description  ;  most  flatter  themselves  with  a  vague  hope 
of  reunion  after  death." 

"  But  that  is  a  miserable  hope — very  different  from  ours." 

"  Very  different  indeed  ! — and  miserable  ;  for  it  can  only  deceive  ; 
but  ours  is  sure.  l  Them  that  sleep  in  Jesus  will  God  bring  with 
him.'  " 

"  Precious!"  said  Alice.  "  How  exactly  fitted  to  every  want 
and  mood  of  the  mind  are  the  sweet  Bible  words." 

"  Well !  said  Mr.  Humphreys,  rousing  himself, — "  I  am  going 
in  !  These  mosquitoes  have  half  eaten  me  up.  Are  you  going  to 
sit  there  all  night?" 

"  We  are  thinking  of  it,  papa,"  said  Alice  cheerfully. 

He  went  in,  and  was  heard  calling  Margery  for  a  light. 

They  had  better  lights  on  the  lawn.  The  stars  began  to  peep 
out  through  the  soft  blue,  and  as  the  blue  grew  deeper  they  came 
out  more  and  brighter,  till  all  heaven  was  hung  with  lamps.  But 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  407 

that  was  not  all.  In  the  eastern  horizon,  just  above  the  low  hills 
that  bordered  the  far  side  of  the  plain,  a  white  light,  spreading  and 
growing  and  brightening,  promised  the  moon,  and  promised  that 
she  would  rise  very  splendid ;  and  even  before  she  came  began  to 
throw  a  faint  lustre  over  the  landscape.  All  eyes  were  fastened, 
and  exclamations  burst,  as  the  first  silver  edge  showed  itself,  and 
the  moon  rapidly  rising  looked  on  them  with  her  whole  broad 
bright  face ;  lighting  up  not  only  their  faces  and  figures  but  the 
wide  country  view  that  was  spread  out  below,  and  touching  most 
beautifully  the  trees  in  the  edge  of  the  gap,  and  faintly  the  lawn  ; 
while  the  wall  of  wood  stood  in  deeper  and  blacker  shadow  than 
ever. 

"  Isn't  that  beautiful !"  said  Ellen. 

11  Come  round  here,  Ellie,"  said  John  ; — "  Alice  may  have  you 
all  the  rest  of  the  year,  but  when  I  am  at  home  you  belong  to  me. 
What  was  your  little  head  busied  upon  a  while  ago  ?' ' 

"When?"  said  Ellen. 

"  When  I  asked  you- 


"  Oh,  I  know, — I  remember.     I  was  thinking " 

"Well?"— 

"  I  was  thinking — do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  ?" 

"  Unless  you  would  rather  not." 

"  I  was  thinking  about  Jesus  Christ,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low  tone. 

"What  about  him,  dear  Ellie?"  said  her  brother,  drawing  her 
closer  to  his  side. 

"  Different  things, — I  was  thinking  of  what  he  said  about  little 
children — and  about  what  he  said,  you  know, — '  In  my  Father's 
house  are  many  mansions ;' — and  I  was  thinking  that  mamma  was 
there  ;  and  I  thought — that  we  all " 

Ellen  could  get  no  further. 

"  '  He  that  believeth  in  him  shall  not  be  ashamed,'  "  said  John 
softly.  "  l  This  is  the  promise  that  he  hath  promised  us,  even  eternal 
life ;  and  who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Christ  ?  Not 
death,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to  come.  But  he  that  hath 
this  hope  in  him  purifieth  himself  even  as  he  is  pure  ;' — let  us  re 
member  that  too." 

"  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen  presently, — "  don't  you  like  some  of  the 
chapters  in  the  Revelation  very  much  ?" 

"Yes — very  much.     Why? — do  you?" 

"  Yes.  I  remember  reading  parts  of  them  to  mamma,  and  that 
is  one  reason,  I  suppose  ;  but  I  like  them  very  much.  There  is  a 
great  deal  I  can't  understand,  though." 

"  There  is  nothing  finer  in  the  Bible  than  parts  of  that  book," 
said  Alice. 

"Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen, — "what  is  meant  by  the  'white 
stone?'" 


408  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

11 1  And  in  the  stone  a  new  name  written  ?'  " — 

"  Yes — that  I  mean." 

"  Mr.  Baxter  says  it  is  the  sense  of  God's  love  in  the  heart ;  and 
indeed  that  is  it ;  which  no  man  knoweth  saving  him  that  receiveth 
it.'  This,  I  take  it,  Ellen,  was  Christian's  certificate,  which  he 
used  to  comfort  himself  with  reading  in,  you  remember  ?" 

"  Can  a  child  have  it?"   said  Ellen  thoughtfully. 

"  Certainly — many  children  have  had  it — you  may  have  it. 
Only  seek  it  faithfully.  '  Thou  meetest  him  that  rejoiceth  and 
worketh  righteousness,  those  that  remember  thee  in  thy  ways.' — And 
Christ  said,  '  he  that  loveth  me  shall  be  loved  of  my  Father,  and 
I  will  love  him,  and  I  will  manifest  myself  to  him  !'  There  is  no 
failure  in  these  promises,  Ellie ;  he  that  made  them  is  the  same 
yesterday,  to-day,  and  for  ever." 

For  a  little  while  each  was  busy  with  his  own  meditations.  The 
moon  meanwhile,  rising  higher  and  higher,  poured  a  flood  of  light 
through  the  gap  in  the  woods  before  them,  and  stealing  among  the 
trees  here  and  there  lit  up  a  spot  of  ground  under  their  deep 
shadow.  The  distant  picture  lay  in  mazy  brightness.  All  was 
still,  but  the  ceaseless  chirrup  of  insects  and  gentle  flapping  of 
leaves ;  the  summer  air  just  touched  their  cheeks  with  the  lightest 
breath  of  a  kiss,  sweet  from  distant  hay-fields,  and  nearer  pines 
and  hemlocks,  and  other  of  nature's  numberless  perfume-boxes. 
The  hay-harvest  had  been  remarkably  late  this  year. 

"  This  is  higher  enjoyment,"  said  John, — "than  half  those  who 
make  their  homes  in  rich  houses  and  mighty  palaces  have  any 
notion  of." 

"  But  cannot  rich  people  look  at  the  moon?"   said  Ellen. 

"  Yes,  but  the  taste  for  pure  pleasures  is  commonly  gone  when 
people  make  a  trade  of  pleasure." 

"  Mr.  John," — Ellen  began. 

"I  will  forewarn  you,"  said  he, — "that  Mr.  John  has  made  up 
his  mind  he  will  do  nothing  more  for  you.  So  if  you  have  any 
thing  to  ask,  it  must  lie  still, — unless  you  will  begin  again." 

Ellen  drew  back.     He  looked  grave,  but  she  saw  Alice  smiling. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do?"  said  she,  a  little  perplexed  and  half 
laughing.  "  What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  John  ?  What  does  he  mean, 
Alice?" 

"  You  could  speak  without  a  '  Mr.'  to  me  this  morning  when  you 
were  in  trouble." 

"  Oh  !"   said  Ellen  laughing,— "  I  forgot  myself  then." 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  forget  yourself  permanently  for  the 
future." 

"  Was  that  man  hurt  this  morning,  John  ?"   said  his  sister. 

"Whatman?" 

"  That  man  you  delivered  Ellen  from." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  409 

"Hurt?  no — nothing  material;  I  did  not  wish  to  hurt  him. 
He  richly  deserved  punishment,  but  it  was  not  for  me  to  give  it." 

"  He  was  in  no  hurry  to  get  up,"  said  Ellen. 

"  I  do  not  think  he  ventured  upon  that  till  we  were  well  out  of 
the  way.  He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  after  us  as  we  rode  off.'' 

"  But  I  wanted  to  ask  something,"  said  Ellen, — "  Oh  !  what  is 
the  reason  the  moon  looks  so  much  larger  when  she  first  gets  up 
than  she  does  afterwards  ?' ' 

"  Whom  are  you  asking?" 

"You." 

"  And  who  is  you  ?     Here  are  two  people  in  the  moonlight." 

"  Mr.  John  Humphreys, — Alice's  brother,  and  that  Thomas  calls 
<  the  young  master,'  "  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  You  are  more  shy  of  taking  a  leap  than  your  little  horse  is,"  said 
John  smiling, — "  but  I  shall  bring  you  up  to  it  yet.  What  is  the 
cause  of  the  sudden  enlargement  of  my  thumb?" 

He  had  drawn  a  small  magnifying  glass  from  his  pocket  and 
held  it  between  his  hand  and  Ellen. 

"  Why  it  is  not  enlarged,"  said  Ellen,  "it  is  only  magnified." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"  Why,  the  glass  makes  it  look  larger." 

"  Do  you  know  how,  or  why  ?" 

"  No." 

He  put  up  the  glass  again. 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  Ellen,—"  there  is  no 
magnifying  glass  between  us  and  the  moon  to  make  her  look 
larger.' ' 

"You  are  sure  of  that?" 

"Why  yes!"  said  Ellen; — "I  am  perfectly  sure;  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world.  There  she  is,  right  up  there,  looking  straight 
down  upon  us,  and  there  is  nothing  between." 

"  What  is  it  that  keeps  up  that  pleasant  fluttering  of  leaves  in 
the  wood?" 

"Why,  the  wind." 

"  And  what  is  the  wind?" 

"  It  is  air — air  moving,  I  suppose.' ' 

"  Exactly.     Then  there  is  something  between  us  and  the  moon." 

"  The  air !  But,  Mr.  John,  one  can  see  quite  clearly  through 
the  air;  it  doesn't  make  things  look  larger  or  smaller." 

"  How  far  do  you  suppose  the  air  reaches  from  us  toward  the 
moon?" 

"Why  all  the  way,  don't  it? 

«  No — only  about  forty  miles.  If  it  reached  all  the  way  there 
would  indeed  be  no  magnifying  glass  in  the  case." 

"  But  how  is  it?"  said  Ellen.     "  I  don't  understand." 
"I  cannot  tell  you  to-night,  Ellie.     There  is  a  long  ladder  of 
s  35 


410  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

knowledge  to  go  up  before  we  can  get  to  the  moon,  but  we  will 
begin  to  mount  to-morrow,  if  nothing  happens.  Alice,  you  have 
that  little  book  of  Conversations  on  Natural  Philosophy,  which  you 
and  I  used  to  delight  ourselves  with  in  old  time  ?" 

"  Safe  and  sound  in  the  bookcase,"  said  Alice.  "  I  have  thought 
of  giving  it  to  Ellen  before,  but  she  has  been  busy  enough  with 
what  she  had  already." 

"  I  have  done  Rollin  now,  though,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  that  is  lucky. 
I  am  ready  for  the  moon." 

This  new  study  was  begun  the  next  day,  and  Ellen  took  great 
delight  in  it.  She  would  have  run  on  too  fast  in  her  eagerness  but 
for  the  steady  hand  of  her  teacher ;  he  obliged  her  to  be  very 
thorough.  This  was  only  one  of  her  items  of  business.  The 
weeks  of  John's  stay  were  as  usual  not  merely  weeks  of  constant 
and  varied  delight,  but  of  constant  and  swift  improvement  too. 

A  good  deal  of  time  was  given  to  the  riding-lessons.  John 
busied  himself  one  morning  in  preparing  a  bar  for  her  on  the  lawn  ; 
so  placed  that  it  might  fall  if  the  horse's  heels  touched  it.  Here 
Ellen  learned  to  take  first  standing,  and  then  running,  leaps.  She 
was  afraid  at  first,  but  habit  wore  that  off ;  and  the  bar  was  raised 
higher  and  higher,  till  Margery  declared  she  "  couldn't  stand  and 
look  at  her  going  over  it."  Then  John  made  her  ride  without  the 
stirrup,  and  with  her  hands  behind  her,  while  he,  holding  the  horse 
by  a  long  halter,  made  him  go  round  in  a  circle,  slowly  at  first,  and 
afterwards  trotting  and  cantering,  till  Ellen  felt  almost  as  secure  on 
his  back  as  in  a  chair.  It  took  a  good  many  lessons  however  to 
bring  her  to  this,  and  she  trembled  very  much  at  the  beginning. 
Her  teacher  was  careful  and  gentle,  but  determined  ;  and  whatever 
he  said  she  did,  tremble  or  no  tremble ;  and  in  general  loved  her 
riding  lessons  dearly. 

Drawing  too  went  on  finely.  He  began  to  let  her  draw  things 
from  nature ;  and  many  a  pleasant  morning  the  three  went  out 
together  with  pencils  and  books  and  work,  and  spent  hours  in  the 
open  air.  They  would  find  a  pretty  point  of  view,  or  a  nice  shady 
place  where  the  breeze  came,  and  where  there  was  some  good  old 
rock  with  a  tree  beside  it,  or  a  piece  of  fence,  or  the  house  or  barn 
in  the  distance,  for  Ellen  to  sketch ;  and  while  she  drew  and  Alice 
worked,  John  read  aloud  to  them.  Sometimes  he  took  a  pencil 
too,  and  Alice  read  ;  and  often,  often,  pencils,  books,  and  work 
were  all  laid  down ;  and  talk, — lively,  serious,  earnest,  always  de 
lightful, — took  the  place  of  them.  When  Ellen  could  not  under 
stand  the  words,  at  least  she  could  read  the  faces  ;  and  that  was  a 
study  she  was  never  weary  of.  At  home  there  were  other  studies 
and  much  reading  ;  many  tea  drinkings  on  the  lawn,  and  even 
breakfastings,  which  she  thought  pleasanter  still. 

As  soon  as  it  was  decided  that  Mr.  Van   "Brunt's  leg  was  doing 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  411 

well,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  be  sound  again,  Ellen  went  to  see  him  ; 
and  after  that  rarely  let  two  days  pass  without  going  again.  John 
and  Alice  used  to  ride  with  her  so  far,  and  taking  a  turn  beyond 
while  she  made  her  visit,  call  for  her  on  their  way  back.  She  had 
a  strong  motive  for  going  in  the  pleasure  her  presence  always  gave, 
both  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  his  mother.  Sam  Larkens  had  been 
to  Thirlwall  and  seen  Mrs.  Forbes,  and  from  him  they  had  heard 
the  story  of  her  riding  up  and  down  the  town  in  search  of  the 
doctor  ;  neither  of  them  could  forget  it.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  poured 
out  her  affection  in  all  sorts  of  expressions  whenever  she  had 
Ellen's  ear;  her  son  was  not  a  man  of  many  words;  but  Ellen 
knew  his  face  and  manner  well  enough  without  them,  and  read 
there  whenever  she  went  into  his  room  what  gave  her  great 
pleasure. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?"  she  said  on  one  of  these 
occasions. 

"  Oh,  I'm  getting  along,  I  s'pose,"  said  he  ;— "  getting  along  as 
well  as  a  man  can  that's  lying  on  his  back  from  morning  to  night ; 
— prostrated,  as  'Squire  Dennison  said  his  corn  was  t'other  day." 

"  It  is  very  tiresome,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  It's  the  tiresomest  work  that  ever  was,  for  a  man  that  has  two 
arms  to  be  a  doing  nothing,  day  after  day.  And  what  bothers  me 
is  the  wheat  in  the  ten-acre  lot,  that  ought  to  be  prostrated  too, 
and  ain't,  nor  ain't  like  to  be,  as  I  know,  unless  the  rain  comes 
and  does  it.  Sam  and  Johnny  '11  make  no  head- way  at  all  with  it 
— I  can  tell  as  well  as  if  I  see  'em." 

"  But  Sam  is  good,  isn't  he  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Sam's  as  good  a  boy  as  ever  was  ;  but  then  Johnny  Low  is 
mischievous,  you  see,  and  he  gets  Sam  out  of  his  tracks  once  in  a 
while.  I  never  see  a  finer  growth  of  wheat.  I  had  a  sight  rather 
cut  and  harvest  the  hull  of  it  than  to  lie  here  and  think  of  it  get 
ting  spoiled.  I'm  a'most  out  o'  conceit  o'  trap  doors,  Ellen." 

Ellen  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  There  ain't  nothing,"  said  he  ; — "  I  wish  there  was.  How  are 
you  coming  along  at  home?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  am  not  there  just  now,  you 
know  ;  I  am  staying  up  with  Miss  Alice  again." 

"  Oh,  ay!  while  her  brother's  at  home.  He's  a  splendid  man, 
that  young  Mr.  Humphreys,  ain't  he?" 

"  Oh,  /  knew  that  a  great  while  ago,"  said  Ellen,  the  bright 
colour  of  pleasure  overspreading  her  face. 

"  Well,  1  didn't,  you  see,  till  the  other  day,  when  he  came  here, 
very  kindly,  to  see  how  I  was  getting  on.  I  wish  something  would 
bring  him  again.  I  never  heerd  a  man  talk  I  liked  to  hear  so 
much." 


412  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  secretly  resolved  something  should  bring  him  ;  and  went 
on  with  a  purpose  she  had  had  for  some  time  in  her  mind. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  pleasant,  while  you  are  lying  there  and  can  do 
nothing, — wouldn't  you  like  to  have  me  read  something  to  you, 
Mr.  Van  Brunt?  /should  like  to,  very  much." 

"  It's  just  like  you,"  said  he  gratefully, — "  to  think  of  that ;  but 
I  wouldn't  have  you  be  bothered  with  it." 

"  It  wouldn't  indeed.     I  should  like  it  very  much." 

"  Well,  if  you've  a  mind,"  said  he  ; — "  I  can't  say  but  it  would 
be  a  kind  o'  comfort  to  keep  that  grain  out  o'  my  head  a  while. 
Seems  to  me  I  have  cut  and  housed  it  all  three  times  over  already. 
Read  just  whatever  you  have  a  mind  to.  If  you  was  to  go  over  a 
last  year's  almanac,  it  would  be  as  good  as  a  fiddle  to  me." 

"I'll  do  better  for  you  than  that,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen, 
laughing  in  high  glee  at  having  gained  her  point.  —  She  had 
secretly  brought  her  Pilgrim's  Progress  with  her,  and  now  with 
marvellous  satisfaction  drew  it  forth. 

"  I  ha'n't  been  as  much  of  a  reader  as  I  had  ought  to,"  said 
Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as  she  opened  the  book  and  turned  to  the  first 
page  ; — "  but,  however,  I  understand  my  business  pretty  well ;  and 
a  man  can't  be  every  thing  to  once.  Now  let's  hear  what  you've 
got  there." 

With  a  throbbing  heart,  Ellen  began  ;  and  read,  notes  and  all, 
till  the  sound  of  tramping  hoofs  and  Alice's  voice  made  her  break 
off.  It.  encouraged  and  delighted  her  to  see  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt's 
attention  was  perfectly  fixed.  He  lay  still,  without  moving  his 
eyes  from  her  face,  till  she  stopped  ;  then  thanking  her  he  declared 
that  was  a  "first-rate  book,"  and  he  "should  like  mainly  to  hear 
the  hull  on  it." 

From  that  time  Ellen  was  diligent  in  her  attendance  on  him. 
That  she  might  have  more  time  for  reading  than  the  old  plan  gave 
her,  she  set  off  by  herself  alone  some  time  before  the  others,  of 
course  riding  home  with  them.  It  cost  her  a  little  sometimes,  to 
forego  so  much  of  their  company ;  but  she  never  saw  the  look  of 
grateful  pleasure  with  which  she  was  welcomed  without  ceasing  to 
regret  her  self-denial.  How  Ellen  blessed  those  notes  as  she  went 
on  with  her  reading  !  They  said  exactly  what  she  wanted  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  to  hear,  and  in  the  best  way,  and  were  too  short  and  simple 
to  interrupt  the  interest  of  the  story.  After  a  while  she  ventured 
to  ask  if  she  might  read  him  a  chapter  in  the  Bible.  He  agreed 
very  readily  ;  owning  "  he  hadn't  ought  to  be  so  long  without  read 
ing  one  as  he  had  been."  Ellen  then  made  it  a  rule  to  herself, 
without  asking  any  more  questions,  to  end  every  reading  with  a 
chapter  in  the  Bible ;  and  she  carefully  sought  out  those  that 
might  be  most  likely  to  take  hold  of  his  judgment  or  feelings. 
They  took  hold  of  her  own  very  deeply,  by  the  means ;  what  was 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  413 

strong,  or  tender,  before,  now  seemed  to  her  too  mighty  to  be  with 
stood  ;  and  Ellen  read  not  only  with  her  lips  but  with  her  whole 
heart  the  precious  words,  longing  that  they  might  come  with  their 
just  effect  upon  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  mind. 

Once  as  she  finished  reading  the  tenth  chapter  of  John,  a  fa 
vourite  chapter,  which  between  her  own  feeling  of  it  and  her  strong 
wish  for  him  had  moved  her  even  to  tears,  she  cast  a  glance  at  his 
face  to  see  how  he  took  it.  His  head  was  a  little  turned  to  one 
side,  and  his  eyes  closed ;  she  thought  he  was  asleep.  Ellen  was 
very  much  disappointed.  She  sank  her  head  upon  her  book  and 
prayed  that  a  time  might  come  when  he  would  know  the  worth  of 
those  words.  The  touch  of  his  hand  startled  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"   said  he.     "  Are  you  tired  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen  looking  hastily  up  ;— "  Oh,  no  !  I'm  not  tired." 

"But  what  ails  you?"  said  the  astonished  Mr.  Van  Brunt; 
"  what  have  you  been  a  crying  for  ?  what's  the  matter?" 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Ellen,  brushing  her  hand  over  her  eyes, 
— "it's  no  matter." 

"Yes,  but  I  want  to  know,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt; — "you 
shan't  have  any  thing  to  vex  you  that  I  can  help ;  what  is  it?" 

"It  is  nothing,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears 
again, — "  only  I  thought  you  were  asleep — I — I  thought  you  didn't 
care  enough  about  the  Bible  to  keep  awake — I  want  so  much  that 
you  should  be  a  Christian  !" 

He  half  groaned  and  turned  his  head  away. 

"  What  makes  you  wish  that  so  much  ?"  said  he  after  a  minute 
or  two. 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  be  happy,"  said  Ellen, — "  and  I  know 
you  can't  without." 

"Well,  I  am  pretty  tolerable  happy,"  said  he  ; — "as  happy  as 
most  folks  I  guess." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  be  happy  when  you  die,  too,"  said  Ellen  ; — 
"  I  want  to  meet  you  in  heaven  " 

"  I  hope  I  will  go  there,  surely,"  said  he  gravely, — "  when  the 
time  comes." 

Ellen  was  uneasily  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  I  ain't  as  good  as  I  ought  to  be,"  said  he  presently,  with  a  half 
sigh  ; — "  I  ain't  good  enough  to  go  to  heaven — I  wish  I  was.  You 
are,  I  do  believe." 

"I!  oh,  no,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  do  not  say  that; — I  am  not  good 
at  all — I  am  full  of  wrong  things." 

"  Well  I  wish  I  was  full  of  wrong  things  too,  in  the  same  way," 
said  he. 

"  But  I  am,"  said  Ellen, — "  whether  you  will  believe  it  or  not. 
Nobody  is  good,  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  But  Jesus  Christ  has  died  for 
us, — and  if  we  ask  him  he  will  forgive  us,  and  wash  away  our  sins, 

35* 


414  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


and  teach  us  to  love  him,  and  make  us  good,  and  take  us  to  be 
him  in   heaven.     Oh,  I  wish  you  would  ask  him!"  she  rept 


with 

you  would  ask  him!"  she  repeated 

with  an  earnestness  that  went  to  his  heart,  "  I  don't  believe  any 
one  can  be  very  happy  that  doesn't  love  him." 

"  Is  that  what  makes  you  happy  ?"  said  he. 

"I  have  a  great  many  things  to  make  me  happy,"  said  Ellen 
soberly, — "  but  that  is  the  greatest  of  all.  It  always  makes  me 
happy  to  think  of  him,  and  it  makes  every  thing  else  a  thousand 
times  pleasanter.  I  wish  you  knew  how  it  is,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  disturbed  Ellen  thought. 

"Well!"  said  he  at  length, — "  'tain't  the  folks  that  thinks 
themselves  the  best  that  is  the  best  always  ;— if  you  ain't  good  I 
should  like  to  know  what  goodness  is.  There  s  somebody  that 
thinks  you  be,"  said  he  a  minute  or  two  afterwards,  as  the  horses 
were  heard  coming  to  the  gate. 

"No,  she  knows  me  better  than  that,"  said  Ellen. 

"  It  isn't  any  she  that  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. — "  There's 
somebody  else  out  there,  ain't  there?" 

"Who?"  said  Ellen— "  Mr.  John?— Oh,  no  indeed  he  don't. 
It  was  only  this  morning  he  was  telling  me  of  something  I  did  that 
was  wrong." — Her  eyes  watered  as  she  spoke. 

"  He  must  have  mighty  sharp  eyes,  then,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 
— "  for  it  beats  all  my  powers  of  seeing  things." 

"And  so  he  has,"  said  Ellen,  putting  on  her  bonnet, — "he 
always  knows  what  I  am  thinking  of  just  as  well  as  if  I  told  him. 
Good-by!" 

"  Good-by,"  said  he; — "I  ha'n't  forgotten  what  you've  been 
saying,  and  I  don't  mean  to." 

How  full  of  sweet  pleasure  was  the  ride  home ! 

The  "something  wrong,"  of  which  Ellen  had  spoken,  was  this. 
The  day  before,  it  happened  that  Mr.  John  had  broken  her  off 
from  a  very  engaging  book  to  take  her  drawing-lesson ;  and  as  he 
stooped  down  to  give  a  touch  or  two  to  the  piece  she  was  to  copy, 
he  said,  "  I  don't  want  you  to  read  any  more  of  that,  Ellie  ;  it  is 
not  a  good  book  for  you."  Ellen  did  not  for  a  moment  question 
that  he  was  right,  nor  wish  to  disobey  ;  but  she  had  become  very 
much  interested,  and  was  a  good  deal  annoyed  at  having  such  a 
sudden  stop  put  to  her  pleasure.  She  said  nothing,  and  went  on 
with  her  work.  In  a  little  while  Alice  asked  her  to  hold  a  skein 
of  cotton  for  her  while  she  wound  it.  Ellen  was  annoyed  again  at 
the  interruption  ;  the  harp-strings  were  jarring  yet,  and  gave  fresh 
discord  to  every  touch.  She  had,  however,  no  mind  to  let  her 
vexation  be  seen ;  she  went  immediately  and  held  the  cotton,  and 
as  soon  as  it  was  done  sat  down  again  to  her  drawing.  Before  ten 
minutes  had  passed  Margery  came  to  set  the  table  for  dinner ; 
Ellen's  papers  and  desk  must  move. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  415 

"  Why,  it  is  not  dinner-time  yet  this  great  while,  Margery,"  said 
she ; — "  it  isn't  much  after  twelve." 

"No,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Margery  under  her  breath,  for  John 
was  in  one  corner  of  the  room  reading, — "  but  by  and  by  I'll  be 
busy  with'  the  chops  and  frying  the  salsify,  and  I  couldn't  leave  the 
kitchen ; — if  you'll  let  me  have  the  table  now." 

Ellen  said  no  more,  and  moved  her  things  to  a  stand  before  the 
window  ;  where  she  went  on  with  her  copying  till  dinner  was 
ready.  Whatever  the  reason  was,  however,  her  pencil  did  not 
work  smoothly  ;  her  eye  did  not  see  true ;  and  she  lacked  her 
usual  steady  patience.  The  next  morning,  after  an  hour  and 
more's  work  and  much  painstaking,  the  drawing  was  finished. 
Ellen  had  quite  forgotten  her  yesterday's  trouble.  But  when 
John  came  to  review  her  drawing,  he  found  several  faults  with  it ; 
pointed  out  two  or  three  places  in  which  it  had  suffered  from  haste 
and  want  of  care  ;  and  asked  her  how  it  had  happened.  Ellen 
knew  it  happened  yesterday.  She  was  vexed  again,  though  she 
did  her  best  not  to  show  it;  she  stood  quietly  and  heard  what 
he  had  to  say.  He  then  told  her  to  get  ready  for  her  riding 
lesson. 

"  Mayn't  I  just  make  this  right  first?''  said  Ellen  ; — "  it  won't 
take  me  long." 

"  No,"  said  he, — "  you  have  been  sitting  long  enough  ;  I  must 
break  you  off.  The  Brownie  will  be  here  in  ten  minutes." 

Ellen  was  impatiently  eager  to  mend  the  bad  places  in  her 
drawing,  and  impatiently  displeased  at  being  obliged  to  ride  first. 
Slowly  and  reluctantly  she  went  to  get  ready ;  John  was  already 
gone ;  she  would  not  have  moved  so  leisurely  if  he  had  been  any 
where  within  seeing  distance.  As  it  was,  she  found  it  convenient 
to  quicken  her  movements ;  and  was  at  the  door  ready  as  soon  as 
he  and  the  Brownie.  She  was  soon  thoroughly  engaged  in  the 
management  of  herself  and  her  horse ;  a  little  smart  riding  shook 
all  the  ill-humour  out  of  her,  and  she  was  entirely  herself  again. 
At  the  end  of  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes  they  drew  up  under  the 
shade  of  a  tree  to  let  the  Brownie  rest  a  little.  It  was  a  warm  day 
and  John  had  taken  off  his  hat  and  stood  resting  too,  with  his  arm 
leaning  on  the  neck  of  the  horse.  Presently  he  looked  round  to 
Ellen,  and  asked  her  with  a  smile,  if  she  felt  right  again  ? 

"  Why?"  said  Ellen,  the  crimson  of  her  cheeks  mounting  to  her 
forehead.  But  her  eye  sunk  immediately  at  the  answering  glance 
of  his.  He  then  in  a  very  few  words  set  the  matter  before  her, 
with  such  a  happy  mixture  of  pointedness  and  kindness,  that  while 
the  reproof,  coming  from  him,  went  to  the  quick,  Ellen  yet  joined 
with  it  no  thought  of  harshness  or  severity.  She  was  completely 
subdued  however  ;  the  rest  of  the  riding-lesson  had  to  be  given  up  ; 


416-  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

and  for  an  hour  Ellen's  tears  could  not  be  stayed.  But  it  was,  and 
John  had  meant  it  should  be,  a  strong  check  given  to  her  besetting 
sin.  It  had  a  long  and  lasting  effect. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Speed.  But  tell  me  true,  will  't  be  a  match  ? 

Zaun.  Ask  my  dog ;  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  he  say,  no,  it  will ;  if  he  shake 
his  tail  and  say  nothing,  it  will. — Two  GENTLEMEN  OF  VERONA. 

IN  due  time  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  on  his  legs  again,  much  to 
every  body's  joy,  and  much  to  the  advantage  of  fields,  fences,  and 
grain.  Sam  and  Johnny  found  they  must  "  spring  to,"  as  their 
leader  said ;  and  Miss  Fortune  declared  she  was  thankful  she  could 
draw  a  long  breath  again,  for  do  what  she  would  she  couldn't  be 
everywhere.  Before  this  John  and  the  Black  Prince  had  departed, 
and  Alice  and  Ellen  were  left  alone  again. 

"How  long  will  it  be,  dear  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  as  they  stood 
sorrowfully  looking  down  the  road  by  which  he  had  gone, — "be 
fore  he  will  be  through  that — before  he  will  be  able  to  leave  Don- 
caster?" 

"  Next  summer." 

"  And  what  will  he  do  then?' 

"  Then  he  will  be  ordained." 

"  Ordained  ?— what  is  that  ?" 

"  He  will  be  solemnly  set  apart  for  the  work  of  the  ministry, 
and  appointed  to  it  by  a  number  of  clergymen." 

"  And  then  will  he  come  and  stay  at  home,  Alice?" 

"I  don't  know  what  then,  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  sighing; — 
"  he  may  for  a  little  ;  but  papa  wishes  very  much  that  before  he  is 
settled  anywhere  he  should  visit  England  and  Scotland  and  see 
our  friends  there.  Though  I  hardly  think  John  will  do  it  unless 
he  sees  some  further  reason  for  going.  If  he  do  not,  he  will 
probably  soon  he  called  somewhere — Mr.  Marshman  wants  him  to 
come  to  Randolph.  I  don't  know  how  it  will  be." 

"  Well  !"  said  Ellen,  with  a  kind  of  acquiescing  sigh — "  at  any 
rate  now  we  must  wait  until  next  Christmas." 

The  winter  passed  with  little  to  mark  it  except  the  usual  visits 
to  Ventnor  ;  which,  however,  by  common  consent,  Alice  and  Ellen 
had  agreed  should  not  be  when  John  was  at  home.  At  all  other 
times  they  were  much  prized  and  enjoyed.  Every  two  or  three 
months  Mr.  Marshman  was  sure  to  come  for  them,  or  Mr.  Howard, 
or  perhaps  the  carriage  only  with  a  letter ;  and  it  was  bargained 
that  Mr.  Humphreys  should  follow  to  see  them  home.  It  was  not 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  417 

always  that  Ellen  could  go,  but  the  disappointments  were  seldom  ; 
she  too  had  become  quite  domesticated  at  Ventnor,  and  was  sin 
cerely  loved  by  the  whole  family.  Many  as  were  the  times  she 
had  been  there,  it  had  oddly  happened  that  she  had  never  met  her 
old  friend  of  the  boat  again  ;  but  she  was  very  much  attached  to 
old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marshman,  and  Mrs.  Chauncey  and  her  daughter  ; 
the  latter  of  whom  reckoned  all  the  rest  of  her  young  friends  as 
nothing  compared  with  Ellen  Montgomery.  Ellen,  in  her  opinion, 
did  every  thing  better  than  any  one  else  of  her  age. 

"  She  has  good  teachers,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  I  should  think  she  had.  Alice, — I  should  think 
any  body  would  learn  well  with  her  ; — and  Mr.  John — I  suppose 
he's  as  good,  though  I  don't  know  so  much  about  him  ;  but  he 
must  be  a  great  deal  better  teacher  than  Mr.  Sandford,  mamma, 
for  Ellen  draws  ten  times  as  well  as  I  do  !' ' 

"  Perhaps  that  is  your  fault  and  not  Mr.  Sandford' s,"  said  her 
mother, — "  though  I  rather  think  you  overrate  the  difference." 

"I  am  sure  I  take  pains  enough,  if  that's  all,"  said  the  little 
girl ; — "  what  more  can  I  do,  mamma?  But  Ellen  is  so  pleasant 
about  it  always ;  she  never  seems  to  think  she  does  better  than  I ; 
and  she  is  always  ready  to  help  me  and  take  ever  so  much  time  to 
show  me  how  to  do  things  ; — she  is  so  pleasant ;  isn't  she,  mamma? 
I  know  I  have  heard  you  say  she  is  very  polite." 

"  She  is  certainly  that,"  said  Mrs.  Grillespie,— "  and  there  is  a 
grace  in  her  politeness  that  can  only  proceed  from  great  natural 
delicacy  and  refinement  of  character ; — how  she  can  have  such 
manners,  living  and  working  in  the  way  you  say  she  does,  I  con 
fess  is  beyond  my  comprehension." 

"  One  would  not  readily  forget  the  notion  of  good-breeding  in 
the  society  of  Alice  and  John  Humphreys,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 

"  And  Mr.  Humphreys,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  There  is  no  society  about  him,"  said  Miss  Sophia ; — "  he  don't 
say  two  dozen  words  a  day." 

"  But  she  is  not  with  them,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  She  is  with  them  a  great  deal,  aunt  Matilda,"  said  Ellen 
Chauncey, — "  and  they  teach  her  every  thing,  and  she  does  learn  ! 
She  must  be  very  clever  ;  don't  you  think  she  is,  mamma  ?  Mamma, 
she  beats  me  entirely  in  speaking  French,  and  she  knows  all  about 
English  history  ;  and  arithmetic  ! — and  did  you  ever'hear  her  sing, 
mamma  ?" 

"  I  do  not  believe  she  beats  you,  as  you  call  it,  in  generous 
estimation  of  others,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  smiling,  and  bending 
forward  to  kiss  her  daughter  ; — "  but  what  is  the  reason  Ellen  is 
so  much  better  read  in  history  than  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma,  unless — I  wish  I  wasn't  so  fond  of 
reading  stories." 
bb 


418  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Ellen  Montgomery  is  just  as  fond  of  them,  I'll  warrant,"  said 
Miss  Sophia. 

11  Yes, — oh,  I  know  she  is  fond  of  them  ;  but  then  Alice  and 
Mr.  John  don't  let  her  read  them,  except  now  and  then  one." 

"  I  fancy  she  does  it  though  when  their  backs  are  turned,"  said 
Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  She  !  oh,  aunt  Matilda  !  she  wouldn't  do  the  least  thing  they 
don't  like  for  the  whole  world.  I  know  she  never  reads  a  story 
when  she  is  here,  unless  it  is  my  Sunday  books,  without  asking 
Alice  first." 

"  She  is  a  most  extraordinary  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  She  is  a  good  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  and  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  say; — I  do  not 
think  Ellen  is  so  polite  because  she  is  so  much  with  Alice  and 
John,  but  because  she  is  so  sweet  and  good.  I  don't  think  she 
could  help  being  polite." 

"  It  is  not  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie ; — "  mere  sweetness  and 
goodness  would  never  give  so  much  elegance  of  mariner.  As  far 
as  I  have  seen,  Ellen  Montgomery  is  a  perfectly  well-behaved 
child." 

"That  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey; — "but  neither  woul'd  any 
cultivation  or  example  be  sufficient  for  it  without  Ellen's  thorough 
good  principle  and  great  sweetness  of  temper." 

"  That's  exactly  what  /think,  mamma,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey. 

Ellen's  sweetness  of  temper  was  not  entirely  born  with  her ;  it 
was  one  of  the  blessed  fruits  of  religion  and  discipline.  Discipline 
had  not  done  with  it  yet.  When  the  winter  came  on,  and  the 
house-work  grew  less,  and  with  renewed  vigour  she  was  bending 
herself  to  improvement  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  it  unluckily  came  into 
Miss  Fortune's  head  that  some  of  Ellen's  spare  time  might  be 
turned  to  account  in  a  new  line.  With  this  lady,  to  propose  and 
to  do  were  two  things  always  very  near  together.  The  very  next 
day  Ellen  was  summoned  to  help  her  down  stairs  with  the  big 
spinning-wheel.  Most  unsuspiciously,  and  with  her  accustomed 
pleasantness,  Ellen  did  it.  But  when  she  was  sent  up  again  for 
the  rolls  of  wool ;  and  Miss  Fortune  after  setting  up  the  wheel,  put 
one  of  them  into  her  hand  and  instructed  her  how  to  draw  out  and 
twist  the  thread  of  yarn,  she  saw  all  that  was  coming.  She  saw  it 
with  dismay.  So  much  yarn  as  Miss  Fortune  might  think  it  well 
she  should  spin,  so  much  time  must  be  taken  daily  from  her  be 
loved  reading  and  writing,  drawing  and  studying ;  her  very  heart 
sunk  with  her.  She  made  no  remonstrance,  unless  her  disconsolate 
face  might  be  thought  one  ;  she  stood  half  a  day  at  the  big  spin 
ning-wheel,  fretting  secretly,  while  Miss  Fortune  went  round  with 
an  inward  chuckle  visible  in  her  countenance,  that  in  spite  of  her 
self  increased  Ellen's  vexation.  And  this  was  not  the  annoyance 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  419 

of  a  day ;  she  must  expect  it  day  after  day  through  the  whole  win 
ter.  It  was  a  grievous  trial.  Ellen  cried  for  a  great  while  when 
she  got  to  her  own  room,  and  a  long  hard  struggle  was  necessary 
before  she  could  resolve  to  do  her  duty.  "  To  be  patient  and  quiet ! 
— and  spin  nobody  knows  how  much  yarn — and  my  poor  history 
and  philosophy  and  drawing  arid  French  and  reading" — Ellen  cried 
very* heartily.  But  she  knew  what  she  ought  to  do ;  she  prayed 
long,  humbly,  earnestly,  that  "her  little  rushlight  might  shine 
bright;" — and  her  aunt  had  no  cause  to  complain  of  her.  Some 
times,  if  overpressed,  Ellen  would  ask  Miss  Fortune  to  let  her 
stop ;  saying,  as  Alice  had  advised  her,  that  she  wished  to  have  her 
do  such  and  such  things.  Miss  Fortune  never  made  any  objection  ; 
and  the  hours  of  spinning  that  wrought  so  many  knots  of  yarn  for 
her  aunt,  wrought  better  things  yet  for  the  little  spinner  :  patience 
and  gentleness  grew  with  the  practice  of  them  ;  this  wearisome 
work  was  one  of  the  many  seemingly  untoward  things  which  in 
reality  bring  out  good.  The  time  Ellen  did  secure  to  herself  was 
held  the  more  precious  and  used  the  more  carefully.  After  all  it 
was  a  very  profitable  and  pleasant  winter  to  her.  . 

John's  visit  came  as  usual  at  the  holidays,  and  was  enjoyed  as 
usual  ;  only  that  every  one  seemed  to  Ellen  more  pleasant  than  the 
last.  The  sole  other  event  that  broke  the  quiet  course  of  things, 
(beside  the  journeys  to  Ventnor)  was  the  death  of  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt.  This  happened  very  unexpectedly  and  after  a  short  illness, 
not  far  from  the  end  of  January.  Ellen  was  very  sorry ;  both  for 
her  own  sake  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt's,  who  she  was  sure  felt  much, 
though  according  to  his  general  custom  he  said  nothing.  Ellen 
felt  for  him  none  the  less.  She  little  thought  what  an  important 
bearing  this  event  would  have  upon  her  own  future  well-being. 

The  winter  passed  and  the  spring  came.  One  fine  mild  pleasant 
afternoon  early  in  May,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  into  the  kitchen  and 
asked  Ellen  if  she  wanted  to  go  with  him  and  see  the  sheep  salted. 
Ellen  was  seated  at  the  table  with  a  large  tin  pan  in  her  lap,  and 
before  her  a  huge  heap  of  white  beans  which  she  was  picking  over 
for  the  Saturday's  favourite  dish  of  pork  and  beans.  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  a  hopeless  face. 

"  I  should  like  to  go  very  much  indeed,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  but  you 
see  I  can't.  All  these  to  do  !" 

"Beans,  eh?"  said  he,  putting  one  or  two  in  his  mouth. 
"Where's  your  aunt?" 

Ellen  pointed  to  the  buttery.  He  immediately  went  to  the  door 
and  rapped  on  it  with  his  knuckles. 

"  Here,  ma'am  !"  said  he, — "  can't  you  let  this  child  go  with  me  ? 
I  want  her  along  to  help  feed  the  sheep." 

To  Ellen's  astonishment  her  aunt  called  to  her  through  the  closed 
door  to  "go  along  and  leave  the  beans  till  she  came  back."  Joy- 


420  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

fully  Ellen  obeyed.  She  turned  her  back  upon  the  beans,  careless 
of  the  big  heap  which  would  still  be  there  to  pick  over  when  she 
returned ;  and  ran  to  get  her  bonnet.  In  all  the  time  she  had  been 
at  Thirlwall  something  had  always  prevented  her  seeing  the  sheep 
fed  with  salt,  and  she  went  eagerly  out  of  the  door  with  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  to  a  new  pleasure. 

They  crossed  two  or  three  meadows  back  of  the  barn  to  a  low 
rocky  hill  covered  with  trees.  On  the  other  side  of  this  they  came 
to  a  fine  field  of  spring  wheat.  Footsteps  must  not  go  over  the 
young  grain  ;  Ellen  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  coasted  carefully  round  by 
the  fence  to  another  piece  of  rocky  woodland  that  lay  on  the  far 
side  of  the  wheat-field.  It  was  a  very  fine  afternoon.  The  grass 
was  green  in  the  meadow  ;  the  trees  were  beginning  to  show  their 
leaves  ;  the  air  was  soft  and  spring-like.  In  great  glee  Ellen 
danced  along,  luckily  needing  no  entertainment  from  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,  who  was  devoted  to  his  salt-pan.  His  natural  taciturnity 
seemed  greater  than  ever ;  he  amused  himself  all  the  way  over  the 
meadow  with  turning  over  his  salt  and  tasting  it,  till  Ellen  laugh 
ingly  told  him'  she  believed  he  was  as  fond  of  it  as  the  sheep  were  ; 
and  then  he  took  to  chucking  little  bits  of  it  right  and  left,  at  any 
thing  he  saw  that  was  big  enough  to  serve  for  a  mark.  Ellen 
stopped  him  again  by  laughing  at  his  wastefulness ;  and  so  they 
came  to  the  wood.  She  left  him  then  to  do  as  he  liked,  while  she 
ran  hither  and  thither  to  search  for  flowers.  It  was  slow  getting 
through  the  wood.  He  was  fain  to  stop  and  wait  for  her. 

''Aren't  these  lovely?"  said  Ellen  as  she  came  up  with  her 
hands  full  of  anemones, — "  and  look — there's  the  liverwort.  I 
thought  it  must  be  out  before  now — the  dear  little  thing  ! — but  I 
can't  find  any  blood-root,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

"  I  guess  they're  gone,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  I  suppose  they  must,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  am  sorry  ;  I  like  them 
so  much.  Oh,  I  believe  I  did  get  them  earlier  than  this  two  years 
ago  when  I  used  to  take  so  many  walks  with  you.  Only  think  of 
my  not  having  been  to  look  for  flowers  before  this  spring." 

"  It  hadn't  ought  to  ha'  happened  so,  that's  a  fact,"  said  Mr. 
Van  Brunt.  "  I  don't  know  how  it  has." 

"  Oh,  there  are  my  yellow  bells  !"  exclaimed  Ellen  ; — "  oh,  you 
beauties  !  Aren't  they,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  I  won't  say  but  what  I  think  an  ear  of  wheat's  handsomer," 
said  he  with  his  half  smile. 

"  Why  Mr.  Van  Brunt!  how  can  you? — but  an  ear  of  wheat's 
pretty  too.  Oh,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  what  is  that  ?  Do  you  get  me 
some  of  it,  will  you,  please  ?  Oh,  how  beautiful ! — what  is  it?" 

"  That's  black  birch,"  said  he  ; — "  'tis  kind  o'  handsome  ; — stop, 
I'll  find  you  some  oak  blossoms  directly. — There's  some  Solomon's 
seal — do  you  want  some  of  that?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  421 

Ellen  sprang  to  it  with  exclamations  of  joy,  and  before  she 
could  rise  from  her  stooping  posture  discovered  some  cowslips  to 
be  scrambled  for.  Wild  columbine,  the  delicate  corydalis,  and 
more  uvularias,  which  she  called  yellow  bells,  were  added  to  her 
handful,  till  it  grew  a  very  elegant  bunch  indeed.  Mr.  Yan  Brunt 
looked  complacently  on,  much  as  Ellen  would  at  a  kitten  running 
round  after  its  tail. 

"  Now  I  won't  keep  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  she, 
when  her  hands  were  as  full  as  they  could  hold  ; — "I  have  kept 
you  a  great  while  ;  you  are  very  good  to  wait  for  me." 

They  took  up  their  line  of  march  again,  and  after  crossing  the 
last  piece  of  rocky  woodland  came  to  an  open  hill-side,  sloping 
gently  up,  at  the  foot  of  which  were  several  large  flat  stones. 

"  But  where  are  the  sheep,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen. 

"  I  guess  they  ain't  fur,"  said  he.  "You  keep  quiet,  'cause 
they  don't  know  you ;  and  they  are  mighty  scary.  Just  stand 
still  there  by  the  fence. — Ca-nan  !  ca-nan  !  Ca-nan,  nan,  nan,  nan 
nan,  nan,  nan  !" 

This  was  the  sheep  call,  and  raising  his  voice  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
made  it  sound  abroad  far  over  the  hills.  Again  and  again  it 
sounded ;  and  then  Ellen  saw  the  white  nose  of  a  sheep  at  the 
edge  of  the  woods  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  On  the  call's  sounding 
again  the  sheep  set  forward,  and  in  a  long  train  they  came  running 
along  a  narrow  footpath  down  toward  where  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was 
standing  with  his  pan.  The  soft  tramp  of  a  multitude  of  light 
hoofs  in  another  direction  turned  Ellen's  eyes  that  way,  and  there 
were  two  more  single  files  of  sheep  running  down  the  hill  from 
different  points  in  the  woodland.  The  pretty  things  came  scamper 
ing  along,  seeming  in  a  great  hurry,  till  they  got  very  near ;  then 
the  whole  multitude  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and  looked  very  wist 
fully  and  doubtfully  indeed  at  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  the  strange 
little  figure  standing  so  still  by  the  fence.  They  seemed  in  great 
doubt,  every  sheep  of  them,  whether  Mr.  Van  Brunt  were  not  a 
traitor,  who  had  put  on  a  friend's  voice  and  lured  them  down  there 
with  some  dark  evil  intent,  which  he  was  going  to  carry  out  by 
means  of  that  same  dangerous-looking  stranger  by  the  fence. 
Ellen  almost  expected  to  see  them  turft  about  and  go  as  fast  as 
they  had  come.  But  Mr.  Van  Brunt  gently  repeating  his  call, 
went  quietly  up  to  the  nearest  stone  and  began  to  scatter  the  salt 
upon  it,  full  in  their  view.  Doubt  was  at  an  end  ;  he  had  hung 
out  the  white  flag ;  they  flocked  down  to  the  stones,  no  longer  at 
all  in  fear  of  double-dealing,  and  crowded  to  get  at  the  salt ;  the 
rocks  where  it  was  strewn  were  covered  with  more  sheep  than 
Ellen  would  have  thought  it  possible  could  stand  upon  them. 
They  were  like  pieces  of  floating  ice  heaped  up  with  snow,  or 
queen-cakes  with  an  immoderately  thick  frosting.  It  was  one 


422 


THE   WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


scene  of  pushing  and  crowding  ;  those  which  had  not  had  their 
share  of  the  feast  forcing  themselves  up  to  get  at  it,  and  shoving 
others  off  in  consequence.  Ellen  was  wonderfully  pleased.  It  was 
a  new  and  pretty  sight,  the  busy  hustling  crowd  of  gentle  creat 


ures  ;  with  the  soft  noise  of  their  tread  upon  grass  and  stones, 
and  the  eager  devouring  of  the  salt.  She  was  fixed  with  pleasure, 
looking  and  listening;  and  did  not  move  till  the  entertainment  was 
over,  and  the  body  of  the  flock  were  carelessly  scattering  here  and 
there,  while  a  few  that  had  perhaps  been  disappointed  of  their  part 


THE    WWK,    WIDE    WORLD.  423 

still  lingered  upon  the  stones  in  the  vain  hope  of  yet  licking  a  little 
saltness  from  them. 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  never  knew  what  salt  was  worth  before. 
How  they  do  love  it !  Is  it  good  for  them,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"Good  for  them?"  he  said, — uto  be  sure  it  is  good  for  them. 
There  ain't  a  critter  that  walks,  as  I  know,  that  it  ain't  good  for, 
— 'cept  chickens,  and  it's  very  queer  it  kills  them." 

They  turned  to  go  homeward.  Ellen  had  taken  the  empty  pan 
to  lay  her  flowers  in,  thinking  it  would  be  better  for  them  than  the 
heat  of  her  hand  ;  and  greatly  pleased  with  what  she  had  come  to 
see,  and  enjoying  her  walk  as  much  as  it  was  possible,  she  was 
going  home  very  happy ;  yet  she  could  not  help  missing  Mr.  Van 
Brunt's  old  sociableness.  He  was  uncommonly  silent,  even  for 
him,  considering  that  he  and  Ellen  were  alone  together  ;  and  she 
wondered  what  had  possessed  him  with  a  desire  to  cut  down  all 
the  young  saplings  he  came  to  that  were  large  enough  for  walking 
sticks.  He  did  not  want  to  make  any  use  of  them,  that  was  cer 
tain,  for  as  fast  as  he  cut  and  trimmed  out  one  he  threw  it  away 
and  cut  another.  Ellen  was  glad  when  they  got  out  into  the  open 
fields  where  there  were  none  to  be  found. 

"It  is  just  about  this  time  a  year  ago,"  said  she,  "  that  aunt 
Fortune  was  getting  well  of  her  long  fit  of  sickness." 

"Yes!"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  with  a  very  profound  air; — 
"  something  is  always  happening  most  years." 

Ellen  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  this  philosophical  remark. 

"  I  am  very  glad  nothing  is  happening  this  year,"  said  she  ; — 
"  I  think  it  is  a  great  deal  pleasanter  to  have  things  go  on  quietly." 

"  Oh,  something  might  happen  without  hindering  things  going 
on  quietly,  I  s'pose, — mightn't  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen,  wonderingly ;  —  "why  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  what  is  going  to  happen  ?" 

"I  declare,"  said  he,  half  laughing, — "you're  as  cute  as  a 
razor;  I  didn't  say  there  was  any  thing  going  to  happen,  did  I  ?" 

"  But  is  there?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Ha'n't  your  aunt  said  nothing  to  you  about  it  ?" 

"  Why  no,"  said  Ellen, — "she  never  tells  me  anything;  what 
is  it?" 

"  Why  the  story  is,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — "  at  least  I  know, 
for  I've  understood  as  much  from  herself,  that — I  believe  she's 
going  to  be  married  before  long." 

"  She  !"  exclaimed  Ellen.     "  Married  !— aunt  Fortune  !" 

"I  believe  so,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  making  a  lunge  at  a  tuft 
of  tall  grass  and  pulling  off  two  or  three  spears  of  it,  which  he 
carried  to  his  mouth. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  Ellen  saw  nothing  in 
earth,  air,  or  sky,  and  knew  no  longer  whether  she  was  passing 


424  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

through  woodland  or  meadow.  To  frame  words  into  another  sen 
tence  was  past  her  power.  They  came  in  sight  of  the  barn  at 
length.  She  would  not  have  much  more  time. 

"  Will  it  be  soon,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  Why  pretty  soon,  as  soon  as  next  week,  I  guess  ;  so  I  thought 
it  was  time  you  ought  to  be  told.  Do  you  know  to  who  ?" 

"  I  don't  know"  said  Ellen  in  a  low  voice  ; — "  I  couldn't  help 
guessing." 

"  I  reckon  you've  guessed  about  right,"  said  he,  without  looking 
at  her. 

There  was  another  silence,  during  which  it  seemed  to  Ellen  that 
her  thoughts  were  tumbling  head  over  heels,  they  were  in  such 
confusion. 

"  The  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as  they 
rounded  the  corner  of  the  barn, — "  we  have  made  up  our  minds  to 
draw  in  the  same  yoke  ;  and  we're  both  on  us  pretty  go-ahead  folks, 
so  I  guess  we'll  contrive  to  pull  the  cart  along.  I  had  just  as  lieve 
tell  you,  Ellen,  that  all  this  was  as  good  as  settled  a  long  spell  back, 
— 'afore  ever  you  came  to  Thirl  wall ;  but  I  was  never  agoing  to 
leave  my  old  mother  without  a  home  ;  so  I  stuck  to  her,  and  would> 
to  the  end  of  time,  if  I  had  never  been  married.  But  now  she  is 
gone,  and  there  is  nothing  to  keep  me  to  the  old  place  any  longer. 
So  now  you  know  the  hull  on  it,  and  I  wanted  you  should." 

With  this  particularly  cool  statement  of  his  matrimonial  views, 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  turned  off  into  the  barnyard,  leaving  Ellen  to  go 
home  by  herself.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  walking  on  air  while  she 
crossed  the  chip- yard,  and  the  very  house  had  a  seeming  of  unre 
ality.  Mechanically  she  put  her  flowers  in  water,  and  sat  down  to 
finish  the  beans ;  but  the  beans  might  have  been  flowers  and  the 
flowers  beans  for  all  the  difference  Ellen  saw  in  them.  Miss  For 
tune  and  she  shunned  each  other's  faces  most  carefully  for  a  long 
time ;  Ellen  felt  it  impossible  to  meet  her  eyes ;  and  it  is  a  matter 
of  great  uncertainty  which  in  fact  did  first  look  at  the  other. 
Other  than  this  there  was  no  manner  of  difference  in  any  thing 
without  or  within  the  house.  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  being  absolutely 
speechless  was  not  a  very  uncommon  thing. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  425 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

Poor  little,  pretty,  fluttering  thing, 

Must  we  no  longer  live  together  ? 
And  dost  thou  prune  thy  trembling  wing 

To  take  thy  flight  thou  knowest  not  whither  ? 

PRIOR. 

As  soon  as  she  could  Ellen  carried  this  wonderful  news  to  Alice, 
and  eagerly  poured  out  the  whole  story,  her  walk  and  all.  She 
was  somewhat  disappointed  at  the  calmness  of  her  hearer. 

"  But  you  don't  seem  half  as  surprised  as  I  expected,  Alice ;  I 
thought  you  would  be  so  much  surprised." 

"I  am  not  surprised  at  all,  Ellie." 

«  Not ! — aren't  you  ? — why,  did  you  know  any  thing  of  this 
before?" 

"  I  did  not  know,  but  I  suspected.  I  thought  it  was  very 
likely.  I  am  very  glad  it  is  so." 

"  Glad !  are  you  glad  ?  I  am  so  sorry ; — why  are  you  glad, 
Alice?" 

"  Why  are  you  sorry,  Ellie  ?" 

"  Oh,  because  ! — I  don't  know — it  seems  so  queer ! — I  don't  like 
it  at  all.  I  am  very  sorry  indeed." 

"  For  your  aunt's  sake,  or  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  sake  ?" 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean,  do  you  think  he  or  she  will  be  a  loser  by  the  bargain  ?" 

"  Why  he,  to  be  sure;  I  think  he  will;  I  don't  think  she  will. 
I  think  he  is  a  great  deal  too  good.  And  besides — I  wonder  if  he 
wants  to  really  ; — it  was  settled  so  long  ago — maybe  he  has  changed 
his  mind  since." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  so,  Ellie?"  said  Alice  smiling. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  think  he  seemed  particularly  glad." 

"  It  will  be  safest  to  conclude  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  knows  his 
own  mind,  my  dear  ;  and  it  is  certainly  pleasanter  for  us  to  hope 
so." 

"  But  then,  besides,"  said  Ellen  with  a  face  of  great  perplexity 
and  vexation, — "  I  don't  know — it  don't  seem  right !  How  can  I 
ever — must  I,  do  you  think  I  shall  have  to  call  him  any  thing  but 
Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

Alice  could  not  help  smiling  again. 

"  What  is  your  objection,  Ellie?" 

"  Why,  because  I  cant!— I  couldn't  do  it,  somehow.  It  would 
seem  so  strange.  Must  I,  Alice  ? — Why  in  the  world  are  you 
glad,  dear  Alice?" 

36* 


426  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"It  smooths  my  way  for  a  plan  I  have  had  in  my  head  ;  you 
will  know  by  and  by  why  I  am  glad,  Ellie." 

11  Well  I  am  glad  if  you  are  glad,"  said  Ellen  sighing; — "I 
don't  know  why  I  was  so  sorry,  but  I  couldn't  help  it ;  I  suppose  I 
shan't  mind  it  after  a  while." 

She  sat  for  a  few  minutes,  musing  over  the  possibility  or  impos 
sibility  of  ever  forming  her  lips  to  the  words  "  uncle  Abraham," 
"  uncle  Van  Brunt,"  or  barely  "  uncle  ;"  her  soul  rebelled  against 
all  three.  "Yet  if  he  should  think  me  unkind, — then  I  must, — 
oh,  rather  fifty  times  over  than  that !"  Looking  up,  she  saw  a 
change  in  Alice's  countenance,  and  tenderly  asked, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Alice  ?  what  are  you  thinking 
about?" 

"  I  am  thinking,  Ellie,  how  I  shall  tell  you  something  that  will 
give  you  pain." 

"  Pain  !  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  giving  me  pain,"  said  Ellen 
fondly,  throwing  her  arms  around  her, — "  tell  me,  dear  Alice  ;  is 
it  something  I  have  done  that  is  wrong  ?  what  is  it  ?" 

Alice  kissed  her,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  oh,  dear  Alice  !"  said  Ellen,  encircling 
Alice's  head  with  both  her  arms; — "oh,  don't  cry!  do  tell  me 
what  it  is  !" 

"  It  is  only  sorrow  for  you,  dear  Ellie." 

"  But  why?"  said  Ellen  in  some  alarm  ; — "  why  are  you  sorry 
forme?  I  don't  care,  if  it  don't  trouble  you,  indeed  I  don't! 
Never  mind  me  ;  is  it  something  that  troubles  you,  dear  Alice  ?" 

"  No — except  for  the  effect  it  may  have  on  others." 

"  Then  I  can  bear  it,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  you  need  not  be  afraid  to 
tell  me  dear  Alice  ; — what  is  it?  don't  be  sorry  for  me  !" 

But  the  expression  of  Alice's  face  was  such  that  she  could  not 
help  being  afraid  to  hear  ;  she  anxiously  repeated  "  what  is  it  ?" 

Alice  fondly  smoothed  back  the  hair  from  her  brow,  looking 
herself  somewhat  anxiously  and  somewhat  sadly  upon  the  up 
lifted  face. 

"Suppose  Ellie,"  she  said  at  length, — "that  you  and  I  were 
taking  a  journey  together — a  troublesome  dangerous  journey — 
and  that  /  had  a  way  of  getting  at  once  safe  to  the  end  of  it ; — 
would  you  be  willing  to  let  me  go,  and  you  do  without  me  for  the 
rest  of  the  way  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  you  should  take  me  with  you,"  said  Ellen,  in  a 
kind  of  maze  of  wonder  and  fear; — "  why  where  are  you  going, 
Alice  ?" 

"  I  £hink  I  am  going  home,  Ellie, — before  you." 

"Home?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes,— home  I  feel  it  to  be  ;  it  is  not  a  strange  land  ;  I  thank 
God  it  is  my  home  I  am  going  to." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD  427 

Ellen  sat  looking  at  her,  stupefied. 

"It  is  your  home  too,  love,  I  trust,  and  believe,"  said  Alice 
tenderly ; — "  we  shall  be  together  at  last.  I  am  not  sorry  for 
myself;  I  only  grieve  to  leave  you  alone, — and  others, — but  God 
knows  best.  We  must  both  look  to  him." 

"  Why  Alice,"  said  Ellen  starting  up  suddenly, — "  what  do  you 
mean  ?  what  do  you  mean  ? — I  don't  understand  you — what  do 
you  mean?" 

"  Do  you  not  understand  me,  Ellie  ?" 

"  But  Alice  ! — but  Alice — dear  Alice — what  makes  you  say  so? 
is  there  any  thing  the  matter  with  you  ?" 
"Do  I  look  well,  Ellie?" 

With  an  eye  sharpened  to  painful  keenness,  Ellen  sought  in 
Alice's  face  for  the  tokens  of  what  she  wished  and  what  she 
feared.  It  had  once  or  twice  lately  flitted  through  her  mind  that 
Alice  was  very  thin,  and  seemed  to  want  her  old  strength,  whether 
in  riding,  or  walking,  or  any  other  exertion  ;  and  it  had  struck  her 
that  the  bright  spots  of  colour  in  Alice's  face  were  just  like  what 
her  mother's  cheeks  used  to  wear  in  her  last  illness.  These 
thoughts  had  just  come  and  gone;  but  now  as  she  recalled  them 
and  was  forced  to  acknowledge  the  justness  of  them,  and  her  re 
view  of  Alice's  face  pressed  them  home  anew, — hope  for  a  moment 
faded.  She  grew  white,  even  to  her  lips. 

"  My  poor  Ellie  !  my  poor  Ellie  !"  said  Alice,  pressing  her  little 
sister  to  her  bosom, — "  it  must  be  !  We  must  say  '  the  Lord's  will 
be  done ;' — we  must  not  forget  he  does  all  things  well." 

But  Ellen  rallied  ;  she  raised  her  head  again  ;  she  could  not 
believe  what  Alice  had  told  her.  To  her  mind  it  seemed  an  evil 
too  great  to  happen  ;  it  could  not  be  !  Alice  saw  this  in  her  look, 
and  again  sadly  stroked  her  hair  from  her  brow.  "  It  must  be, 
Ellie,  she  repeated." 

"  But  have  you  seen  somebody? — have  you  asked  somebody  ?" 
said  Ellen  ; — "  some  doctor?" 

"I  have  seen,  and  I  have  asked,"  said  Alice; — "it  was  not 
necessary,  but  I  have  done  both.  They  think  as  I  do." 

"  But  these  Thirl  wall  doctors " 

"Not  them;  I  did  not  apply  to  them.  I  saw  an  excelle-nt 
physician  at  Randolph,  the  last  time  I  went  to  Ventnor." 

"  And  he  said " 

"As  I  have  told  you." 
Ellen's  countenance  fell — fell. 

"  It  is  easier  for  me  to  leave  you  than  for  you  to  be  left, — I  know 
that,  my  dear  little  Ellie  !  You  have  no  reason  to  be  sorry  for  me 
— I  am  sorry  for  you  ;  but  the  hand  that  is  taking  me  away  is  one 
that  will  touch  neither  of  us  but  to  do  us  good ; — I  know  that  too. 
We  must  both  look  away  to  our  dear  Saviour,  and  not  for  a  moment 


428  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

doubt  his  love.  I  do  not — you  must  not.  Is  it  not  said  that  '  he 
loved  Martha,  and  her  sister,  and  Lazarus?'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  who  never  stirred  her  eyes  from  Alice's. 

"  And  might  he  not — did  it  not  rest  with  a  word  of  his  lips,  to 
keep  Lazarus  from  dying,  and  save  his  sisters  from  all  the  bitter 
sorrow  his  death  caused  them  ?' ' 

Again  Ellen  said,  "  yes,"  or  her  lips  seemed  to  say  it. 

"  And  yet  there  were  reasons,  good  reasons,  why  he  should  not, 
little  as  poor  Martha  and  Mary  could  understand  it. — But  had  he 
at  all  ceased  to  love  them  when  he  bade  all  that  trouble  come  ?  Do 
you  remember,  Ellie — oh,  how  beautiful  those  words  are ! — when 
at  last  he  arrived  near  the  place,  and  first  one  sister  came  to  him 
with  the  touching  reminder  that  he  might  have  saved  them  from 
this,  and  then  the  other, — weeping  and  falling  at  his  feet,  and  re 
peating  '  Lord,  if  thou  hadst  been  here  !' — when  he  saw  their  tears, 
and  more,  saw  the  torn  hearts  that  tears  could  not  ease, — he  even 
wept  with  them  too  !  Oh,  I  thank  God  for  those  words  !  He  saw 
reason  to  strike,  and  his  hand  did  not  spare  ;  but  his  love  shed  tears 
for  them !  and  he  is  just  the  same  now." 

Some  drops  fell  from  Alice's  eyes,  not  sorrowful  ones ;  Ellen  had 
hid  her  face. 

"  Let  us  never  doubt  his  love,  dear  Ellie,  and  surely  then  we  can 
bear  whatever  that  love  may  bring  upon  us.  I  do  trust  it.  I  do 
believe  it  shall  be  well  with  them  that  fear  God.  I  believe  it  will 
be  well  for  me  when  I  die, — well  for  you  my  dear,  dear  Ellie, — 
well  even  for  my  father " 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  afraid  to  trust  herself. — But  oh, 
Ellen  knew  what  it  would  have  been  ;  and  it  suddenly  startled  into 
life  all  the  load  of  grief  that  had  been  settling  heavily  on  her  heart. 
Her  thoughts  had  not  looked  that  way  before  ; — now  when  they 
did,  this  new  vision  of  misery  was  too  much  to  bear.  Quite  unable 
to  contain  herself,  and  unwilling  to  pain  Alice  more  than  she  could 
help,  with  a  smothered  burst  of  feeling  she  sprang  away,  out  of 
the  door,  into  the  woods,  where  she  would  be  unseen  and  un 
heard. 

And  there  in  the  first  burst  of  her  agony,  Ellen  almost  thought 
she  should  die.  Her  grief  had  not  now  indeed  the  goading  sting 
of  impatience ;  she  knew  the  hand  that  gave  the  blow,  and  did  not 
raise  her  own  against  it ;  she  believed  too  what  Alice  had  been 
saying,  and  the  sense  of  it  was,  in  a  manner,  present  with  her  in 
her  darkest  time.  But  her  spirit  died  within  her ;  she  bowed  her 
head  as  if  she  were  never  to  lift  it  up  again  ;  and  she  was  ready  to 
say  with  Job,  "  what  good  is  my  life  to  me  ?" 

It  was  long,  very  long  after,  when  slowly  and  mournfully  she 
came  in  again  to  kiss  Alice  before  going  back  to  her  aunt's.  She 
would  have  done  it  hurriedly  and  turned  away ;  but  Alice  held  her 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  429 

and  looked  sadly  for  a  minute  into  the  woe-begone  little  face,  then 
clasped  her  close  and  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  Oh,  Alice,"  sobbed  Ellen  on  her  neck, — "aren't  you  mis 
taken?  maybe  you  are  mistaken." 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,  my  dear  Ellie,  my  own  Ellie,"  said  Alice's 
clear  sweet  voice  ; — "  nor  sorry,  except  for  others.  I  will  talk  with 
you  more  about  this.  You  will  be  sorry  for  me  at  first,  and  then 
I  hope  you  will  be  giad.  It  is  only  that  I  am  going  home  a  little 
before  you.  Remember  what  I  was  saying  to  you  a  while  ago. 
Will  you  tell  Mr.  Van  Brunt  I  should  like  to  see  him  for  a  few 
minutes  some  time  when  he  has  leisure  ? — And  come  to  me  early 
to-morrow,  love." 

Ellen  could  hardly  get  home.  Her  blinded  eyes  could  not  see 
where  she  was  steppin  ;  and  again  and  again  her  fulness  of  heart 
got  the  better  of  every  thing  else,  and  unmindful  of  the  growing 
twilight  she  sat  down  on  a  stone  by  the  wayside  or  flung  herself  on 
the  ground  to  let  sorrows  have  full  sway.  In  one  of  these  fits  of 
bitter  struggling  with  pain,  there  came  on  her  mind,  like  a  sun 
beam  across  a  cloud,  the  thought  of  Jesus  weeping  at  the  grave  of 
Lazarus.  It  came  with  singular  power.  Did  he  love  them  so 
well  ?  thought  Ellen — and  is  he  looking  down  upon  us  with  the 
same  tenderness  even  now  ? — She  felt  that  the  sun  was  shining 
still,  though  the  cloud  might  be  between  ;  her  broken  heart  crept 
to  His  feet  and  laid  its  burden  there,  and  after  a  few  minutes  she 
rose  up  and  went  on  her  way,  keeping  that  thought  still  close  to 
her  heart.  The  unspeakable  tears  that  were  shed  during  those 
few  minutes  were  that  softened  out-pouring  of  the  heart  that 
leaves  it  eased.  Very,  very  sorrowful  as  she  was,  she  went  on 
calmly  now  and  stopped  no  more. 

It  was  getting  dark,  and  a  little  way  from  the  gate,  on  the  road, 
she  met  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

'•Why  I  was  beginning  to  get  scared  about  you,"  said  he. 
"  I  was  coming  to  see  where  you  was.  How  come  you  so 
late?" 

Ellen  made  no  answer,  and  as  he  now  came  nearer  and  he  could 
see  more  distinctly,  his  tone  changed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  he, — "you  ha' n't  been  well  !  what 
has  happened  ?  what  ails  you,  Ellen  ?" 

In  astonishment  and  then  in  alarm,  he  saw  that  she  was  unable 
to  speak,  and  anxiously  and  kindly  begged  her  to  let  him  know 
what  was  the  matter,  and  if  he  could  do  any  thing.  Ellen  shook 
her  head. 

11  Ain't  Miss  Alice  well  ?"  said  he  ; — "  you  ha' n't  heerd  no  bad 
news  up  there  on  the  hill,  have  you  ?" 

Ellen  was  not  willing  to  answer  this  question  with  yea  or  nay. 
She  recovered  herself  enough  to  give  him  Alice's  message. 


430  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I'll  be  sure  and  go,"  said  he, — "but  you  ha' n't  told  me  yet 
what's  the  matter  !  Has  any  thing  happened  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  don't  ask  me — she'll  tell  you — don't  ask 
me." 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  up  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  then,"  said  he, 
— "before  breakfast." 

"No,"  said  Ellen  j — "better  not — perhaps  she  wouldn't  be  up 
so  early." 

"  After  breakfast  then, — I'll  go  up  right  after  breakfast.  I  was 
a  going  with  the  boys  up  into  that  'ere  wheat  lot,  but  anyhow  I'll 
do  that  first.  They  won't  have  a  chance  to  do  much  bad  or  good 
before  I  get  back  to  them,  I  reckon." 

As  soon  as  possible  she  made  her  escape  from  Miss  Fortune's 
eye  and  questions  of  curiosity  which  she  could  not  bear  to  answer, 
and  got  to  her  own  room.  There  the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  find 
the  eleventh  chapter  of  John.  She  read  it  as  she  never  had  read 
it  before  ; — she  found  in  it  what  she  never  had  found  before  ;  one 
of  those  cordials  that  none  but  the  sorrowing  drink.  On  the  love 
of  Christ,  as  there  shown,  little  Ellen's  heart  fastened  ;  and  with  that 
one  sweetening  thought  amid  all  its  deep  sadness,  her  sleep  that  night 
might  have  been  envied  by  many  a  luxurious  roller  in  pleasure. 

At  Alice's  wish  she  immediately  took  up  her  quarters  at  the 
parsonage,  to  leave  her  no  more.  But  she  could  not  see  much 
difference  in  her  from  what  she  had  been  for  several  weeks  past ; 
and  with  the  natural  hopefulness  of  childhood,  her  mind  presently 
almost  refused  to  believe  the  extremity  of  the  evil  which  had  been 
threatened.  Alice  herself  was  constantly  cheerful,  and  sought  by 
all  means  to  further  Ellen's  cheerfulness ;  though  careful  at  the 
same  time,  to  forbid,  as  far  as  she  could,  the  rising  of  the  hope  she 
saw  Ellen  was  inclined  to  cherish. 

One  evening  they  were  sitting  together  at  the  window,  looking 
out  upon  the  same  old  lawn  and  distant  landscape,  now  in  all  the 
fresh  greenness  of  the  young  spring.  The  woods  were  not  yet  in 
full  leaf ;  and  the  light  of  the  setting  sun  upon  the  trees  bordering 
the  other  side  of  the  lawn  showed  them  in  the  most  exquisite  and 
varied  shades  of  colour.  Some  had  the  tender  green  of  the  new 
leaf,  some  were  in  the  red  or  yellow  browns  of  the  half-opened  bud  ; 
others  in  various  stages  of  forwardness  mixing  all  the  tints  between, 
and  the  evergreens  standing  dark  as  ever,  setting  off  the  delicate 
hues  of  the  surrounding  foliage.  This  was  all  softened  off  in  the 
distance ;  the  very  light  of  the  spring  was  mild  and  tender  com 
pared  with  that  of  other  seasons ;  and  the  air  that  stole  round  the 
corner  of  the  house  and  came  in  at  the  open  window  was  laden 
with  aromatic  fragrance.  Alice  and  Ellen  had  been  for  some  time 
silently  breathing  it  and  gazing  thoughtfully  on  the  loveliness  that 
was  abroad. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  431 

"I  used  to  think,"  said  Alice,  "that  it  must  be  a  very  hard 
thing  to  leave  such  a  beautiful  world.  Did  you  ever  think  so, 
Ellie?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  faintly, — "  I  don't  remember." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,"  said  Alice.  "  But  I  do  not  now,  Ellie  ; 
my  feeling  has  changed. — Do  you  feel  so  now,  Ellie  ?" 

"  Oh,  why  do  you  talk  about  it,  dear  Alice?" 

"  For  many  reasons,  dear  Ellie.  Come  here  and  sit  in  my  lap 
again." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  cannot  bear  it." 

"  Yes  I  can.  Sit  here,  and  let  your  head  rest  where  it  used  to  :" 
— and  Alice  laid  her  cheek  upon  Ellen's  forehead; — "  you  are  a 
great  comfort  to  me,  dear  Ellie." 

"  Oh,  Alice,  don't  say  so — you'll  kill  me  !"  exclaimed  Ellen  in 
great  distress. 

"Why  should  I  not  say  so,  love?"  said  Alice  soothingly.  "I 
like  to  say  it,  and  you  will  be  glad  to  know  it  by  and  by.  You  are 
a  great  comfort  to  me." 

11  And  what  have  you  been  to  me  !"  said  Ellen  weeping  bitterly. 

"  What  I  cannot  be  much  longer ;  and  I  want  to  accustom  you 
to  think  of  it,  and  to  think  of  it  rightly.  I  want  you  to  know 
that  if  I  am  sorry  at  all  in  the  thought,  it  is  for  the  sake  of  others, 
not  myself.  Ellie,  you  yourself  will  be  glad  for  me  in  a  little 
while ; — you  will  not  wish  me  back." 

Ellen  shook  her  head. 

"  I  know  you  will  not — after  a  while ; — and  I  shall  leave  you  in 
good  hands — I  have  arranged  for  that,  my  dear  little  sister  !' ' 

The  sorrowing  child  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  she  meant,  but 
a  mute  caress  answered  the  spirit  of  Alice's  words. 

"  Look  up  Ellie — look  out  again.  Lovely — lovely  !  all  that  is, 
— but  I  know  heaven  is  a  great  deal  more  lovely.  Feasted  as  our 
eyes  are  with  beauty,  I  believe  that  eye  has  not  seen,  nor  heart  im 
agined  the  things  that  God  has  prepared  for  them  that  love  him. 
You  believe  that,  Ellie  ;  you  must  not  be  so  very  sorry  that  I  have 
gone  to  see  it  a  little  before  you." 

Ellen  could  say  nothing. 

"  After  all.,  EUie^it ...is  not  beautiful  things  nor  a  beautiful  world 
thatjnake  people  happy — it  is  loving  and  being  loved  ;  and  that  is 
the  reason  why  I  am  happy  in  the  thought  of  heaven.  I  shall,  if 
he  receives  me — I  shall  be  with  my  Saviour;  I  shall  see  him  and 
know  him,  without  any  of  the  clouds  that  come  between  here.  I 
am  often  forgetting  and  displeasing  him  now, — never  serving  him 
well  nor  loving  him  right.  I  shall  be  glad  to  find  myself  where 
all  that  will  be  done  with  for  ever.  I  shall  be  like  him  ! — Why  do 
you  cry  so,  Ellie  ?"  said  Alice  tenderly.  . 

"I  can't  help  it,  Alice." 


432  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"It  is  only  my  love  for  you — and  for  two  more — that  could 
make  me  wish  to  stay  here, — nothing  else  ; — and  I  give  all  that  up, 
because  I  do  not  know  what  is  best  for  you  or  myself.  And  I  look 
to  meet  you  all  again  before  long.  Try  to  think  of  it  as  I  do, 
Ellie." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  without  you  ?"   said  poor  Ellen. 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Ellie.  You  must  come  here  and  take  my  place, 
and  take  care  of  those  I  leave  behind ;  will  you  ? — and  they  will 
take  care  of  you." 

"But," — said  Ellen,  looking  up  eagerly, — "aunt  Fortune " 

"  I  have  managed  all  that.  Will  you  do  it,  Ellen  ?  I  shall 
feel  easy  and  happy  about  you,  and  far  easier  and  happier  about 
my  father,  if  I  leave  you  established  here,  to  be  to  him  as  far  as 
you  can,  what  I  have  been.  Will  you  promise  me,  Ellie?" 

In  words  it  was  not  possible  ;  but  what  silent  kisses,  and  the 
close  pressure  of  the  arms  round  Alice's  neck  could  say  was  said. 

"  I  am  satisfied,  then,"  said  Alice  presently.  "  My  father  will 
be  your  father — think  him  so,  dear  Ellie, — and  I  know  John  will 
take  care  of  you.  And  my  place  will  not  be  empty.  I  am  very, 
very  glad." 

Ellen  felt  her  place  surely  would  be  empty,  but  she  could  not 
say  so. 

"  It  was  for  this  I  was  so  glad  of  your  aunt's  marriage,  Ellie," 
Alice  soon  went  on.  "I  foresaw  she  might  raise  some  difficulties 
in  my  way, — hard  to  remove  perhaps  ; — but  now  I  have  seen  Mr. 
Van  Brunt,  and  he  has  promised  me  that  nothing  shall  hinder 
your  taking  up  your  abode  and  making  your  home  entirely  here. 
Though  I  believe,  Ellie,  he  would  truly  have  loved  to  have  you 
in  his  own  house." 

"I  am  sure  he  would,"  said  Ellen,  —  "but  oh,  how  much 
rather " 

"  He  behaved  very  well  about  it  the  other  morning, — in  a  very 
manly,  frank,  kind  way, — showed  a  good  deal  of  feeling  I  think, 
too.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  for  his  own  sake  he  should 
be  extremely  sorry  to  let  you  go ;  but  he  assured  me  that  nothing 
over  which  he  had  any  control  should  stand  in  the  way  of  your 
good." 

"  He  is  very  kind — he  is  very  good — he  is  always  so,"  said 
Ellen.  "  I  love  Mr.  Van  Brunt  very  much.  He  always  was  as 
kind  to  me  as  he  could  be." 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  Alice  was  looking  out 
of  the  window  again.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the  colouring  of  all 
without  was  graver.  Yet  it  was  but  the  change  from  one  beauty 
to  another.  The  sweet  air  seemed  still  sweeter  than  before  the 
sun  went  down. 

"  You  must  be  happy,  dear  Ellie,  in  knowing  that  I  am.     I  am 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  433 

happy  now.  I  enjoy  all  this,  and  I  love  you  all, — but  I  can  leave 
it  and  can  leave  you, — yes,  both, — for  I  would  see  Jesus !  He 
who  has  taught  me  to  love  him  will  not  forsake  me  now.  Good 
ness  and  mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days  of  my  life,  and  I 
shall  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever.  I  thank  him  !  Oh 
I  thank  him !" 

Alice's  face  did  not  belie  her  words,  though  her  eyes  shone 
through  tears, 

"  Ellie,  dear, — you  must  love  him  with  all  your  heart,  and  live 
constantly  in  his  presence.  I  know  if  you  do  he  will  make  you 
happy,  in  any  event.  He  can  always  give  more  than  he  takes 
away.  Oh,  how  good  he  is  ! — and  what  wretched  returns  we 
make  him  ! — I  was  miserable  when  John  first  went  away  to  Don- 
caster  ;  I  did  not  know  how  to  bear  it.  But  now,  Ellie,  I  think  I 
can  see  it  has  done  me  good,  and  I  can  even  be  thankful  for  it. 
All  things  are  ours — all  things  ; — the  world,  and  life,  and  death 
too." 

"  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  as  well  as  she  could, — "  you  know  what 
you  were  saying  to  me  the  other  day  ?' ' 

"About  what,  love?" 

"  That  about — you  know, — that  chapter ' 

"  About  the  death  of  Lazarus  ?" 

"  Yes.     It  has  comforted  me  very  much." 

"  So  it  has  me,  Ellie.  It  has  been  exceeding  sweet  to  me  at 
different  times.  Come  sing  to  me, — <  How  firm  a  foundation.'  " 

From  time  to  time  Alice  led  to  this  kind  of  conversation,  both 
for  Ellen's  sake  and  her  own  pleasure.  Meanwhile  she  made  her 

f)  on  with  her  usual  studies  and  duties  ;  and  but  for  these  talks 
lien  would  have  scarce  known  how  to  believe  that  it  could  be 
true  which  she  feared. 

The  wedding  of  Miss  Fortune  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  a  very 
quiet  one.  It  happened  at  far  too  busy  a  time  of  year,  and  they 
were  too  cool  calculators,  and  looked  upon  their  union  in  much  too 
business-like  a  point  of  view,  to  dream  of  such  a  wild  thing  as  a 
wedding-tour,  or  even  resolve  upon  so  troublesome  a  thing  as  a 
wedding-party.  Miss  Fortune  would  not  have  left  her  cheese  and 
butter-making  to  see  all  the  New  Yorks  and  Bostons  that  ever 
were  built ;  and  she  would  have  scorned  a  trip  to  Randolph.  And 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  as  certainly  have  wished  himself  all  the 
while  back  among  his  furrows  and  crops.  So  one  day  they  were 
quietly  married  at  home,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Clark  having  been  fetched 
from  Thirlwall  for  the  purpose.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  have  pre 
ferred  that  Mr.  Humphreys  should  perform  the  ceremony;  but 
Miss  Fortune  was  quite  decided  in  favor  of  the  Thirlwall  gentle 
man,  and  of  course  he  it  was. 

The  talk  ran  high   all  over  the  country  on  the  subject  of  this 
T        cc  37 


434  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

marriage,  and  opinions  were  greatly  divided ;  some  congratulating 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  on  having  made  himself  one  of  the  richest  land 
holders  "  in  town"  by  the  junction  of  another  fat  farm  to  his  own  ; 
some  pitying  him  for  having  got  more  than  his  match  within  doors, 
and  "guessing  he'd  missed  his  reckoning  for  once." 

"  If  he  has,  then,"  said  Sam  Larkens,  who  heard  some  of  these 
condoling  remarks, — "  it's  the  first  time  in  his  life,  I  can  tell  you. 
If  she  ain't  a  little  mistaken,  I  wish  I  mayn't  get  a  month's  wages 
in  a  year  to  come.  I  tell  you,  you  don't  know  Van  Brunt ;  he's 
as  easy  as  any  body  as  long  as  he  don't  care  about  what  you're 
doing  ;  but  if  he  once  takes  a  notion  you  can't  make  him  gee  nor 
haw  no  more  than  you  can  our  near  ox  Timothy  when  he's  out  o' 
yoke ;  and  he's  as  ugly  a  beast  to  manage  as  ever  I  see  when  he 
ain't  yoked  up.  Why  bless  you  !  there  ha' n't  been  a  thing  done  on 
the  farm  this  five  years  but  just  what  he  liked — she  don't  know  it. 
I've  heerd  her,"  said  Sam  chuckling, — "  I've  heerd  her  a  telling 
him  how  she  wanted  this  thing  done,  and  t'other,  and  he'd  just  not 
say  a  word  and  go  and  do  it  right  t'other  way.  It'll  be  a  wonder 
if  somebody  ain't  considerably  startled  in  her  calculations  'afore 
summer's  out." 


CHAPTER   XLIL 

She  enjoys  sure  peace  for  evermore, 
As  weather-beaten  ship  arrived  on  happy  shore. 

SPENSER. 

IT  was  impossible  at  first  to  make  Mr.  Humphreys  believe  that 
Alice  was  right  in  her  notion  about  her  health.  The  greatness  of 
the  evil  was  such  that  his  mind  refused  to  receive  it,  much  as 
Ellen's  had  done.  His  unbelief  however  lasted  longer  than  hers. 
Constantly  with  Alice  as  she  was,  and  talking  to  her  on  the  subject, 
Ellen  slowly  gave  up  the  hope  she  had  clung  to  ;  though  still, 
bending  all  her  energies  to  the  present  pleasure  and  comfort  of  her 
adopted  sister,  her  mind  shrank  from  looking  at  the  end.  Daily 
and  hourly,  in  every  way,  she  strove  to  be  what  Alice  said  she  was, 
a  comfort  to  her,  and  she  succeeded.  Daily  and  hourly  Alice's 
look  and  smile  and  manner  said  the  same  thing  over  and  over.  It 
was  Ellen's  precious  reward,  and  in  seeking  to  earn  it  she  half  the 
time  earned  another  in  forgetting  herself.  It  was  diiferent  with 
Mr.  Humphreys.  He  saw  much  less  of  his  daughter ;  and  when 
he  was  with  her,  it  was  impossible  for  Alice,  with  all  her  efforts,  to 
speak  to  him  as  freely  and  plainly  as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  speak- 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  435 

ing  to  Ellen.     The  consequences  were   such  as   grieved  her,  but 
could  not  be  helped. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  her  health  was  failing,  Sophia 
Marshman  came  and  took  up  her  abode  at  the  parsonage.  Ellen 
was  almost  sorry ;  it  broke  up  in  a  measure  the  sweet  and  peaceful 
way  of  life  she  and  Alice  had  held  together  ever  since  her  own 
coining.  Miss  Sophia  could  not  make  a  third  in  their  conversa 
tions.  But  as  Alice's  strength  grew  less  and  she  needed  more  at 
tendance  and  help,  it  was  plain  her  friend's  being  there  was  a  happy 
thing  for  both  Alice  and  Ellen.  Miss  Sophia  was  active,  cheerful, 
untiring  in  her  affectionate  care,  always  pleasant  in  manner  and 
temper ;  a  very  useful  person  in  a  house  where  one  was  ailing. 
Mrs.  Vawse  was  often  there  too,  and  to  her  Ellen  clung,  whenever 
she  came,  as  to  a  pillar  of  strength.  Miss  Sophia  could  do  nothing 
to  help  her  ;  Mrs.  Vawse  could,  a  great  deal. 

Alice  had  refused  to  write  or  allow  others  to  write  to  her  brother. 
She  said  he  was  just  finishing  his  course  of  study  at  Doncaster;. 
she  would  not  have  him  disturbed  or  broken  off  by  bad  news  from 
home.    In  August  he  would  be  quite  through ;  the  first  of  August 
he  would  be  home. 

Before  the  middle  of  June,  however,  her  health  began  to  fail 
much  more  rapidly  than  she  had  counted  upon.  It  became  too 
likely  that  if  she  waited  for  his  regular  return  at  the  first  of  Au 
gust  she  would  see  but  little  of  her  brother.  She  at  last  reluctantly 
consented  that  Mrs.  Chauncey  should  write  to  him  ;  and  from  that 
moment  counted  the  days. 

Her  father  had  scarcely  till  now  given  up  his  old  confidence  re 
specting  her.  He  came  into  her  room  one  morning  when  just 
about  to  set  out  for  Carra-carra  to  visit  one  or  two  of  his  poor 
parishioners. 

"  How  are  you  to-day,  my  daughter?"   he  asked  tenderly. 

"  Easy,  papa,— and  happy,"  said  Alice. 

"You  are  looking  better,"  said  he.  "  We  shall  have  you  well 
again  among  us  yet." 

There  was  some  sorrow  for  him  in  Alice's  smile,  as  she  looked 
up  at  him  and  answered,  "  Yes,  papa,— in  the  land  where  the  in 
habitant  shall  no  more  say  '  I  am  sick.'  " 

He  kissed  her  hastily  and  went  out. 

"I  almost  wish  I  was  in  your  place,  Alice,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 
"  I  hope  I  may  be  half  as  happy  when  my  time  comes." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  hope  so,  Sophia?"   said  Alice,  rather 


;To  be  sure,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause,  "you  have  been 
ten  times  as  good  as  I.  I  don't  wonder  you  feel  easy  when  you 
look  back  and  think  how  blameless  your  life  has  been." 

"  Sophia,  Sophia!"   said  Alice,— "you  know  it  is  not  that.     I 


436  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

never  did  a  good  thing  in  all  my  life  that  was  not  mixed  and  spoiled 
with  evil.  I  never  came  up  to  the  full  measure  of  duty  in  any 
matter." 

"But  surely,"  said  Miss  Sophia, — "if  one  does  the  best  one 
can,  it  will  be  accepted?" 

11  It  won't  do  to  trust  to  that,  Sophia.  God's  law  requires  per 
fection  ;  and  nothing  less  than  perfection  will  be  received  as  pay 
ment  of  its  demand.  If  you  owe  a  hundred  dollars,  and  your 
creditor  will  not  hold  you  quit  for  any  thing  less  than  the  whole 
sum,  it  is  of  no  matter  of  signification  whether  you  offer  him  ten 
or  twenty." 

"  Why  according  to  that,"  said  Miss  Sophia.  "  it  makes  no  differ 
ence  what  kind  of  life  one  leads." 

Alice  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  The  fruit  shows  what  the  tree  is.  Love  to  God  will  strive  to 
please  him — always." 

"  And  is  it  of  no  use  to  strive  to  please  him  ?" 

"  Of  no  manner  of  use,  if  you  make  that  your  trust." 

"  Well  I  don't  see  what  one  is  to  trust  to,"  said  Miss  Sophia, — 
"if  it  isn't  a  good  life." 

"I  will  answer  you,"  said  Alice,  with  a  smile  in  which  there 
was  no  sorrow, — "in  some  words  that  I  love  very  much,  of  an  old 
Scotchman,  I  think ; — '  I  have  taken  all  my  good  deeds  and  all  my 
bad,  and  have  cast  them  together  in  a  heap  before  the  Lord ;  and 
from  them  all  I  have  fled  to  Jesus  Christ,  and  in  him  alone  I  have 
sweet  peace.'  " 

Sophia  was  silenced  for  a  minute  by  her  look. 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  understand  it;  that  is  what  George 
is  always  talking  about;  but  I  can't  understand  him." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  cannot,"  said  Alice  gravely. 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  little  while. 

"  If  all  Christians  were  like  you,"  said  Miss  Sophia,  "I  might 
think  more  about  it ;  but  they  are  such  a  dull  set ;  there  seems  to 
be  no  life  nor  pleasure  among  them." 

Alice  thought  of  these  lines, — 

Their  pleasures  rise  to  things  unseen, 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  time ; 
Where  neither  eyes  nor  ears  have  been, 

Nor  thoughts  of  mortals  climb. 

"You  judge,"  said  she,  "like  the  rest  of  the  world,  of  that 
which  they  see  not.  After  all,  they  know  best  whether  they  are 
happy.  What  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Vawse?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  her ;  she  is  wonderful  to  me ; 
she  is  past  my  comprehension  entirely.  Don'  t  make  her  an  ex 
ample." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  437 

"  No,  religion  has  done  that  for  me.  What  do  you  think  of  your 
brother?" 

"  G-eorge — He  is  happy, — there  is  no  doubt  of  that  ;  he  is  the 
happiest  person  in  the  family,  by  all  odds ;  but  then — I  think  he 
has  a  natural  knack  at  being  happy ; — it  is  impossible  for  any 
thing  to  put  him  out." 

Alice  smiled  and  shook  her  head  again. 

"  Sophistry,  Sophia.      What  do  you  think  of  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  see  what  reason  you  have  to  be  anything  but  happy." 

"  What  have  I  to  make  me  so  ?" 

Sophia  was  silent.     Alice  laid  her  thin  hand  upon  hers. 

"  I  am  leaving  all  I  love  in  this  world.  Should  I  be  happy  if  I 
were  not  going  to  somewhat  I  love  better  ?  Should  I  be  happy 
if  I  had  no  secure  prospect  of  meeting  with  them  again  ? — or  if  I 
were  doubtful  of  my  reception  in  that  place  whither  I  hope  to 
go?" 

Sophia  burst  into  tears.  "  Well  I  don't  know,"  said  she  ;  "  I  sup 
pose  you  are  right;  but  I  don't  understand  it." 

Alice  drew  her  face  down  to  hers  and  whispered  something  in 
her  ear. 

Undoubtedly  Alice  had  much  around  as  well  as  within  her  to 
make  a  declining  life  happy.  Mrs.  Vawse  and  Miss  Marshman 
were  two  friends  and  nurses  not  to  be  surpassed,  in  their  different 
ways.  Margery's  motherly  affection,  her  zeal,  and  her  skill,  left 
nothing  for  heart  to  wish  in  her  line  of  duty.  And  all  that  affec 
tion,  taste,  and  kindness,  which  abundant  means  could  supply,  was 
at  Alice's  command. — Still  her  greatest  comfort  was  Ellen.  Her 
constant  thoughtful  care ;  the  thousand  tender  attentions,  from  the 
roses  daily  gathered  for  her  table  to  the  chapters  she  read  and  the 
hymns  she  sung  to  her ;  the  smile  that  often  covered  a  pang ;  the 
pleasant  words  and  tone  that  many  a  time  came  from  a  sinking 
heart;  they  were  Alice's  daily  and  nightly  cordial.  Ellen  had 
learned  self-command  in  more  than  one  school ;  affection,  as  once 
before,  Was"  her  powerful  teacher  now,  and  taught  her  well.  Sophia 
openly  confessed  that  Ellen  was  the  best  nurse;  and  Margery, 
when  nobody  heard  her,  muttered  blessings  on  the  child's  head. 

Mr.  Humphreys  came  in  often  to  see  his  daughter,  but  never 
stayed  long.  It  was  plain  he  could  not  bear  it.  It  might  have 
been  difficult  too  for  Alice  to  bear,  but  she  wished  for  her  brother. 
She  reckoned  the  time  from  Mrs.  Chauncey's  letter  to  that  when 
he  might  be  looked  for  ;  but  some  irregularities  in  the  course  of 
the  post-office  made  it  impossible  to  count  with  certainty  upon  the 
exact  time  of  his  arrival.  Meanwhile  her  failure  was  very  rapid. 
Mrs.  Vawse  began  to  fear  he  would  not  arrive  in  time. 

The  weeks  of  June  ran  out;  the  roses,  all  but  a  few  late  kinds, 
blossomed  and  died;  July  came. 

37* 


438 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


One  morning  when  Ellen  went  into  her  room,  Alice  drew  her 
close  to  her  and  said,  "  You  remember,  Ellie,  in  the  Pilgrim's 
Progress,  when  Christiana  and  her  companions  were  sent  to  go  over 
the  river  ? — I  think  the  messenger  has  come  for  me.  You  mustn't 
cry,  love  ; — listen — this  is  the  token  he  seems  to  bring  me, — '  I 
have  loved  thee  with  an  everlasting  love.'  I  am  sure  of  it,  Ellie ; 
I  have  no  doubt  of  it ; — so  don't  cry  for  me.  You  have  been  my 
dear  comfort,  my  blessing — we  shall  love  each  other  in  heaven, 
Ellie." 

Alice  kissed  her  earnestly  several  times,  and  then  Ellen  escaped 
from  her  arms  and  fled  away.  It  was  long  before  she  could  come 


back  again.  But  she  came  at  last;  and  went  on  through  all  that 
day  as  she  had  done  for  weeks  before.  The  day  seemed  long,  for 
every  member  of  the  family  was  on  the  watch  for  John's  arrival, 
and  it  was  thought  his  sister  would  riot  live  to  see  another.  It 
wore  away ;  hour  after  hour  passed  without  his  coming ;  and 
the  night  fell.  Alice  showed  no  impatience,  but  she  evidently 
wished  and  watched  for  him  ;  and  Ellen,  whose  affection  read 
her  face  and  knew  what  to  make  of  the  look  at  the  opening 
door, — the  eye  turned  toward  the  window, — the  attitude  of  listen 
ing, — grew  feverish  with  her  intense  desire  that  she  should  be 

gratified. 

From  motives  of  convenience,  Alice  had  moved  up  stairs  to  a 
room  that  John  generally  occupied  when  he  was  at  home ;  directly 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  439 

over  the  sitting-room,  and  with  pleasant  windows  toward  the  east. 
Mrs.  Chauncey,  Miss  Sophia,  and  Mrs.  Vawse,  were  all  there. 
Alice  was  lying  quietly  on  the  bed,  and  seemed  to  be  dozing  ;  but 
Ellen  noticed,  after  lights  were  brought,  that  every  now  and  then 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  gave  an  inquiring  look  round  the  room. 
Ellen  could  not  bear  it ;  slipping  softly  out  she  went  down  stairs 
and  seated  herself  on  the  threshold  of  the  glass  door,  as  if  by 
watching  there  she  could  be  any  nearer  the  knowledge  of  what  she 
wished  for. 

It  was  a  perfectly  still  summer  night.  The  rnoon  shone  brightly 
on  the  little  lawn  and  poured  its  rays  over  Ellen,  just  as  it  had 
done  one  well-remembered  evening  near  a  year  ago.  Ellen's 
thoughts  went  back  to  it.  How  like  and  how  unlike  !  All  around 
was  just  the  same  as  it  had  been  then ;  the  cool  moonlight  upon 
the  distant  fields,  the  trees  in  the  gap  lit  up,  as  then,  the  lawn  a 
flood  of  brightness.  But  there  was  no  happy  party  gathered  there 
now;  —  they  were  scattered.  One  was  away;  one  a  sorrowful 
watcher  alone  in  the  moonlight ; — one  waiting  to  be  gone  where 
there  is  no  need  of  moon  or  stars  for  evermore.  Ellen  almost 
wondered  they  could  shine  so  bright  upon  those  that  had  no  heart 
to  rejoice  in  them  ;  she  thought  they  looked  down  coldly  and  un 
feelingly  upon  her  distress.  She  remembered  the  whip-poor-will ; 
none  was  heard  to-night,  near  or  far  ;  she  was  glad  of  it ;  it  would 
have  been  too  much  ; — and  there  were  no  fluttering  leaves ;  the  air 
was  absolutely  still.  Ellen  looked  up  again  at  the  moon  and  stars. 
They  shone  calmly  on,  despite  the  reproaches  she  cast  upon  them  ; 
and  as  she  still  gazed  up  toward  them  in  their  purity  and  stead 
fastness,  other  thoughts  began  to  come  into  her  head  of  that  which 
was  more  pure  still,  and  more  steadfast.  How  long  they  have 
been  shining,  thought  Ellen  ; — going  on  just  the  same  from  night 
to  night  and  from  year  to  year, — as  if  they  never  would  come  to 
an  end.  But  they  will  come  to  an  end — the  time  will  come  when 
they  stop  shining — bright  as  they  are  ;  and  then,  when  all  they 
are  swept  away,  then  heaven  will  be  only  begun  ;  that  will  never 
end  ! — never.  And  in  a  few  years  we  who  were  so  happy  a  year 
ago  and  are  so  sorry  now,  shall  be  all  glad  together  there, — this 
will  be  all  over  ! — And  then  as  she  looked,  and  the  tears  sprang  to 
her  thoughts,  a  favorite  hymn  of  Alice's  came  to  her  remembrance. 

Ye  stars  are  but  the  shining  dust 

Of  my  divine  abode; 
The  pavements  of  those  heavenly  courts 

Where  I  shall  see  my  God. 

The  Father  of  eternal  lights 

Shall  there  his  beams  display ; 
And  not  one  moment's  darkness  mix 

With  that  unvaried  day. 


440  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD 

"  Not  one  moment's  darkness!"  "  Oh,"  thought  little  Ellen, 

"there  area  great  many  here!" — Still  gazing  up  at  the  bright 
calm  heavens,  while  the  tears  ran  fast  down  her  face,  and  fell  into 
her  lap,  there  came  trooping  through  Ellen's  mind  many  of  those 
words  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  reading  to  her  mother  and 
Alice,  and  which  she  knew  and  loved  so  well. 

u  And  there  shall  be  no  night  there ;  and  they  need  no  candle, 
neither  light  of  the  sun ;  for  the  Lord  God  giveth  them  light : 
and  they  shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever.  And  there  shall  be  no 
more  curse,  but  the  throne  of  God  and  of  the  Lamb  shall  be  in  it ; 
and  his  servants  shall  serve  him  ;  and  they  shall  see  his  face  ;  and 
his  name  shall  be  in  their  foreheads.  And  God  shall  wipe  away 
all  tears  from  their  eyes ;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death, 
neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain  : 
for  the  former  things  have  passed  away. 

"  And  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come  again 
and  receive  you  unto  myself;  that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may  be 
also." 

While  Ellen  was  yet  going  over  and  over  these  precious  things, 
with  a  strong  sense  of  their  preciousness  in  all  her  throbbing  grief, 
there  came  to  her  ear  through  the  perfect  stillness  of  the  night  the 
faint,  far-off,  not- to-be-mistaken  sound  of  quick-coming  horse's 
feet, — nearer  and  nearer  every  second.  It  came  with  a  mingled 
pang  of  pain  and  pleasure,  both  very  acute  ;  she  rose  instantly  to 
her  feet,  and  stood  pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart  while  the  quick- 
measured  beat  of  hoofs  grew  louder  and  louder,  until  it  ceased  at 
the  very  door.  The  minutes  were  few,  but  they  were  moments  of 
intense  bitterness.  The  tired  horse  stooped  his  head,  as  the  rider 
flung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  came  to  the  door  where  Ellen 
stood  fixed.  A  look  asked,  and  a  look  answered,  the  question  that 
lips  could  not  speak.  Ellen  only  pointed  the  way,  and  uttered  the 
words,  "up  stairs;"  and  John  rushed  thither.  He  checked  him 
self  however  at  the  door  of  the  room,  and  opened  it  and  went  in 
as  calmly  as  if  he  had  but  come  from  a  walk.  But  his  caution 
was  very  needless.  Alice  knew  his  step,  she  knew  his  horse  s  step 
too  well ;  she  had  raised  herself  up  and  stretched  out  both  arms 
toward  him  before  he  entered.  In  another  moment  they  were 
round  his  neck,  and  she  was  supported  in  his.  There  was  a  long, 
long  silence. 

"  Are  you  happy,  Alice?"  whispered  her  brother. 

"  Perfectly.     This  was  all  I  wanted.     Kiss  me,  dear  John." 

As  he  did  so,  again  and  again,  she  felt  his  tears  on  her  cheek, 
and  put  up  her  hands  to  his  face  to  wipe  them  away ;  kissed  him 
then,  and  then  once  again  laid  her  head  on  his  breast.  They  re 
mained  so  a  little  while  without  stirring ;  except  that  some  whispers 
were  exchanged  too  low  for  others  to  hear,  and  once  more  she 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  441 

raised  her  face  to  kiss  him.  A  few  minutes  after  those  who  could 
look  saw  his  colour  change,  he  felt  the  arms  unclasp  their  hold  ; 
and  as  he  laid  her  gently  back  on  the  pillow  they  fell  languidly 
down  ;  the  will  and  the  power  that  had  sustained  them  were  gone. 
Alice  was  gone ;  but  the  departing  spirit  had  left  a  ray  of  bright 
ness  on  its  earthly  house  ;  there  was  a  half  smile  on  the  sweet  face, 
of  most  entire  peace  and  satisfaction.  Her  brother  looked  for  a 
moment, — closed  the  eyes, — kissed,  once  and  again,  the  sweet  lips, 
— and  left  the  room. 

Ellen  saw  him  no  more  that  night,  nor  knew  how  he  passed  it. 
For  her,  wearied  with  grief  and  excitement,  it  was  spent  in  long 
heavy  slumber.  From  the  pitch  to  which  her  spirits  had  been 
wrought  by  care,  sorrow,  and  self-restraint,  they  now  suddenly  and 
completely  sank  down ;  naturally  and  happily,  she  lost  all  sense  of 
trouble  in  sleep. 

When  sleep  at  last  left  her,  arid  she  stole  down  stairs  into  the 
sitting-room  in  the  morning,  it  was  rather  early.  Nobody  was 
stirring  about  the  house  but  herself.  It  seemed  deserted ;  the  old 
sitting-room  looked  empty  and  forlorn  ;  the  stillness  was  oppressive. 
Ellen  could  not  bear  it.  Softly  opening  the  glass  door  she  went 
out  upon  the  lawn  where  every  thing  was  sparkling  in  the  early 
freshness  of  the  summer  morning.  How  could  it  look  so  pleasant 
without,  when  all  pleasantness  was  gone  within? — It  pressed  upon 
Ellen's  heart.  With  a  restless  feeling  of  pain,  she  went  on,  round 
the  corner  of  the  house,  and  paced  slowly  along  the  road  till  she 
came  to  the  foot-path  that  led  up  to  the  place  on  the  mountain 
John  had  called  the  Bridge  of  the  Nose.  Ellen  took  that  path, 
often  travelled  and  much  loved  by  her ;  and  slowly,  with  slow- 
dripping  tears,  made  her  way  up  over  moss  wet  with  the  dew,  and 
the  stones  and  rocks  with  which  the  rough  way  was  strewn.  She 
passed  the  place  where  Alice  had  first  found  her, — she  remembered 
it  well ; — there  was  the  very  stone  beside  which  they  had  kneeled 
together,  and  where  Alice's  folded  hands  were  laid.  Ellen  knelt 
down  beside  it  again,  and  for  a  moment  laid  her  cheek  to  the  cold 
stone  while  her  arms  embraced  it,  and  a  second  time  it  was  watered 
with  tears.  She  rose  up  again  quickly  and  went  on  her  way,  toiling 
up  the  steep  path  beyond,  till  she  turned  the  edge  of  the  mountain 
and  stood  on  the  old  place  where  she  and  Alice  that  evening  had 
watched  the  setting  sun.  Many  a  setting  sun  they  had  watched 
from  thence ;  it  had  been  a  favourite  pleasure  of  them  both  to  run 
up  there  for  a  few  minutes  before  or  after  tea  and  see  the  sun  go 
down  at  the  far  end  of  the  long  valley.  It  seemed  to  Ellen  one 
of  Alice's  haunts;  she  missed  her  there;  and  the  thought  went 
keenly  home  that  there  she  would  come  with  her  no  more.  She 
sat  down  on  the  stone  she  called  her  own,  and  leaning  her  head  on 
Alice's  which  was  close  by,  she  wept  bitterly,  yet  not  very  long; 


442  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

she  was  too  tired  and  subdued  for  bitter  weeping ;  she  raised  her 
head  again,  and  wiping  away  her  tears  looked  abroad  over  the 
beautiful  landscape.  Never  more  beautiful  than  then. 

The  early  sun  filled  the  valley  with  patches  of  light  and  shade. 
The  sides  and  tops  of  the  hills  looking  toward  the  east  were  bright 
with  the  cool  brightness  of  the  morning;  beyond  and  between 
them  deep  shadows  lay.  The  sun  could  not  yet  look  at  that  side 
of  the  mountain  where  Ellen  sat,  nor  at  the  long  reach  of  ground 
it  screened  from  his  view,  stretching  from  the  mountain  foot  to  the 
other  end  of  the  valley  ;  but  to  the  left,  between  that  and  the  Cat's 
back,  the  rays  of  the  sun  streamed  through,  touching  the  houses 
of  the  village,  showing  the  lake,  and  making  every  tree  and  barn 
and  clump  of  wood  in  the  distance  stand  out  in  bright  relief. 
Deliciously  cool,  both  the  air  and  the  light,  though  a  warm  day 
was  promised.  The  night  had  swept  away  all  the  heat  of  yesterday. 
Now,  the  air  was  fresh  with  the  dew  and  sweet  from  hayfield  and 
meadow ;  and  the  birds  were  singing  like  mad  all  around.  There 
was  no  answering  echo  in  the  little  human  heart  that  looked  and 
listened.  Ellen  loved  all  these  things  too  well  not  to  notice  them 
even  now  ;  she  felt  their  full  beauty  ;  but  she  felt  it  sadly.  "  She 
will  look  at  it  no  more  !"  she  said  to  herself.  But  instantly  came 
an  answer  to  her  thought ; — "  Behold  I  create  new  heavens,  and  a 
new  earth  ;  and  the  former  shall  not  be  remembered,  nor  come  into 
mind.  Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down  ;  neither  shall  thy  moon 
withdraw  itself:  for  the  Lord  shall  be  thine  everlasting  light,  and 
the  days  of  thy  mourning  shall  be  ended." 

"She  is  there  now,"  thought  Ellen, — "she  is  happy, — why 
should  I  be  sorry  for  her  ?  I  am  not ;  but  oh  !  I  must  be  sorry  for 
myself — Oh,  Alice  ! — dear  Alice  !" 

She  wept ;  but  then  again  came  sweeping  over  her  mind  the 
words  with  which  she  was  so  familiar, — "  the  days  of  thy  mourn 
ing  shall  be  ended;"  and  again  with  her  regret  mingled  the  con 
sciousness  that  it  must  be  for  herself  alone.  And  for  herself, — 
"  Can  I  not  trust  Him  whom  she  trusted  ?"  she  thought.  Some 
what  soothed  and  more  calm,  she  sat  still  looking  down  into  the 
brightening  valley  or  off  to  the  hills  that  stretched  away  on  either 
hand  of  it ;  when  up  through  the  still  air  the  sound  of  the  little 
Carra-carra  church  bell  came  to  her  ear.  It  rang  for  a  minute  and 
then  stopped. 

It  crossed  Ellen's  mind  to  wonder  what  it  could  be  ringing  for  at 
that  time  of  day ;    but  she  went  back   to  her  musings  and  had 
entirely  forgotten  it,  when  again,  clear  and  full  through  the  stillness 
the  sound  came  pealing  up. 
"  One — two!" 

Ellen  knew  now !     It  went  through  her  very  heart. 
It  is  the  custom  in  the   country  to  toll  the  church  bell  upon 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  443 

occasion  of  the  death  of  any  one  in  the  township  or  parish.  A 
few  strokes  are  rung  by  way  of  drawing  attention ;  these  are  fol 
lowed  after  a  little  pause  by  a  single  one  if  the  knell  is  for  man,  or 
two  for  a  woman.  Then  another  short  pause.  Then  follows  the 
number  of  the  years  the  person  has  lived,  told  in  short,  rather  slow 
strokes,  as  one  would  count  them  up.  After  pausing  once  more  the 
tolling  begins,  and  is  kept  up  for  some  time ;  the  strokes  following 
in  slow  and  sad  succession,  each  one  being  permitted  to  die  quite 
away  before  another  breaks  upon  the  ear. 

Ellen  had  been  told  of  this  custom,  but  habit  had  never  made  it 
familiar.  Only  once  she  had  happened  to  hear  this  notice  of  death 
given  out ;  and  that  was  long  ago ;  the  bell  could  not  be  heard  at 
Miss  Fortune's  house.  It  came  upon  her  now  with  all  the  force 
of  novelty  and  surprise.  As  the  number  of  the  years  of  Alice's 
life  was  sadly  tolled  out,  every. stroke  was  to  her  as  if  it  fell  upon  a 
raw  nerve.  Ellen  hid  her  face  in  her  lap  and  tried  to  keep  from 
counting,  but  she  could  not ;  and  as  the  tremulous  sound  of  the 
last  of  the  twenty-four  died  away  upon  the  air,  she  was  shuddering 
from  head  to  foot.  A  burst  of  tears  relieved  her  when  the  sound 
ceased. 

Just  then  a  voice  close  beside  her  said  low,  as  if  the  speaker 
might  not  trust  its  higher  tones, — "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  unto 
the  hills,  from  whence  cometh  my  help !" 

How  differently  that  sound  struck  upon  Ellen's  ear !  With  an 
indescribable  air  of  mingled  tenderness,  weariness,  and  sorrow,  she 
slowly  rose  from  her  seat  and  put  both  her  arms  round  the  speak 
er's  neck.  Neither  said  a  word  ;  but  to  Ellen  the  arm  that  held 
her  was  more  than  all  words ;  it  was  the  dividing  line  between  her 
and  the  world, — on  this  side  every  thing,  on  that  side  nothing. 

No  word  was  spoken  for  many  minutes. 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  said  her  brother  softly, — "how  came  vou 
here?" 

"  T  don't  know,"  whispered  Ellen,—"  there  was  nobody  there— 
I  couldn't  stay  in  the  house." 

"  Shall  we  go  home  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes — whenever  you  please. 

But  neither  moved  yet.  Ellen  had  raised  her  head ;  she  still 
stood  with  her  arm  upon  her  brother's  shoulder;  the  eyes  of  both 
were  on  the  scene  before  them  ;  the  thoughts  of  neither.  He 
presently  spoke  again. 

"  Let  us  try  to  love  our  God  better,  Ellie,  the  less  we  have  left 
to  love  in  this  world ; — that  is  his  meaning — let  sorrow  but  bring 
us  closer  to  him.  Dear  Alice  is  well — she  is  well, — and  if  we  are 
made  to  suffer,  we  know  and  we  love  the  hand  that  has  done  it  — 
do  we  not  Ellie  ?" 

Ellen  put  her  hands  to  her  face ;  she  thought  her  heart  would 


444  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

break.  He  gently  drew  her  to  a  seat  on  the  stone  beside  him,  and 
still  keeping  his  arm  round  her,  slowly  and  soothingly  went  on 

"Think  that  she  is  happy  ; — think  that  she  is  safe  ; — think  that 
she  is  with  that  blessed  One  whose  face  we  seek  at  a  distance, — 
satisfied  with  his  likeness  instead  of  wearily  struggling  with  sin ; 
— think  that  sweetly  and  easily  she  has  got  home  ;  and  it  is  our 
home  too.  We  must  weep,  because  we  are  left  alone  ;  but  for  her 
— '  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven  saying  unto  me,  Blessed  are  the 
dead  that  die  in  the  Lord  !'  " 

As  he  spoke  in  low  and  sweet  tones,  Ellen's  tears  calmed  and 
stopped  ;  but  she  still  kept  her  hands  to  her  face. 

"Shall  we  go  home,  Ellie  ?"  said  her  brother  after  another  si 
lence.  She  rose  up  instantly  and  said  yes.  But  he  held  her  still, 
and  looking  for  a  moment  at  the  tokens  of  watching  and  grief  and 
care  in  her  countenance,  he  gently  kissed  the  pale  little  face,  adding 
a  word  of  endearment  which  almost  broke  Ellen's  heart  again. 
Then  taking  her  hand  they  went  down  the  mountain  together. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

I  have  seen  angels  by  the  sick  one's  pillow ; 

Theirs  was  the  soft  tone  and  the  soundless  tread, 
Where  smitten  hearts  were  drooping  like  the  willow, 

They  stood  '  between  the  living  and  the  dead.' 

UNKNOWN. 

THE  whole  Marshman  family  arrived  to-day  from  Ventnor ;  some 
to  see  Alice's  loved  remains,  and  all  to  follow  them  to  the  grave. 
The  parsonage  could  not  hold  so  many ;  the  two  Mr.  Marshmans, 
therefore,  with  Major  and  Mrs.  Gillespie,  made  their  quarters  at 
Thirlwall.  Margery's  hands  were  full  enough  with  those  that  were 
left. 

In  the  afternoon  however  she  found  time  for  a  visit  to  the  room, 
the  room.  She  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  gazing  on  the 
sweet  face  she  loved  so  dearly,  when  Mrs.  Chauncey  and  Mrs. 
Vawse  came  up  for  the  same  purpose.  All  three  stood  some  time 
in  silence. 

The  bed  was  strewn  with  flowers,  somewhat  singularly  disposed. 
Upon  the  pillow,  and  upon  and  about  the  hands  which  were  folded 
on  the  breast,  were  scattered  some  of  the  rich  late  roses, — roses 
and  rose-buds,  strewn  with  beautiful  and  profuse  carelessness.  A 
single  stem  of  white  lilies  lay  on  the  side  of  the  bed ;  the  rest  of 
the  flowers,  a  large  quantity,  covered  the  feet,  seeming  to  have  been 
flung  there  without  any  attempt  at  arrangement.  They  were  of 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  445 

various  kinds,  chosen  however  with  exquisite  taste  and  feeling. 
Besides  the  roses,  there  were  none  that  were  not  either  white  or  dis 
tinguished  for  their  fragrance.  The  delicate  white  verbena,  the 
pure  feverfew,  mignonette,  sweet  geranium,  white  myrtle,  the  rich- 
scented  heliotrope,  were  mingled  with  the  late-blossoming  damask 
and  purple  roses  ;  no  yellow  flowers,  no  purple  except  those  men 
tioned  ;  even  the  flaunting  petunia,  though  white,  had  been  left  out 
by  the  nice  hand  that  had  culled  them.  But  the  arranging  of  these 
beauties  seemed  to  have  been  little  more  than  attempted  ;  though 
indeed  it  might  be  questioned  whether  the  finest  heart  could  have 
bettered  the  effect  of  what  the  over- tasked  hand  of  affection  had 
left  half  done.  Mrs.  Chauncey  however  after  a  while  began  slowly 
to  take  a  flower  or  two  from  the  foot  and  place  them  on  other  parts 
of  the  bed. 

"Will  Mrs.  Chauncey  pardon  my  being  so  bold,"  said  Margery 
then,  who  had  looked  on  with  no  pleasure  while  this  was  doing, — 
"but  if  she  had  seen  when  those  flowers  were  put  there, — it1 
wouldn't  be  her  wish,  I  am  sure  it  wouldn't  be  her  wish,  to  stir  one 
of  them." 

Mrs.  Chauncey' s  hand,  which  was  stretched  out  for  a  fourth,  drew 
back. 

"  Why  who  put  them  there?"  she  asked. 

"  Miss  Ellen,  ma'am." 

"Where  is  Ellen?" 

"  I  think  she  is  sleeping,  ma'am.  Poor  child  !  she's  the  most 
wearied  of  us  all  with  sorrow  and  watching,"  said  Margery  weeping. 

"  You  saw  her  bring  them  up,  did  you  ?" 

11 1  saw  her,  ma'am.     Oh,  will  I  ever  forget  it  as  long  as  I  live  !" 

"Why?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  gently. 

"It's  a  thing  one  should  have  seen,  ma'am,  to  understand.  I 
don't  know  as  I  can  tell  in  well." 

Seeing  however  that  Mrs.  Chauncey  still  looked  her  wish, 
Margery  went  on,  half  under  her  breath. 

"Why,  ma'am,  the  way  it  was, — I  had  come  up  to  get  some 
linen  out  of  the  closet,  for  I  had  watched  my  time ;  Mrs.  Chauncey 
sees,  I  was  afeard  of  finding  Mr.  John  here,  and  I  knew  he  was 
lying  down  just  then,  so " 

"  Lying  down,  was  he?"  said  Mrs.  Vawse.  "  I  did  not  know  he 
had  taken  any  rest  to-day." 

" It  was  very  little  he  took,  ma'am,  indeed,  though  there  was 
need  enough  I  am  sure ; — he  had  been  up  with  his  father  the  live 
long  blessed  night.  And  then  the  first  thing  this  morning  he  was 
away  after  Miss  Ellen,  poor  child  !  wherever  she  had  betaken  her 
self  to ;  I  happened  to  see  her  before  any  body  was  out,  going 
round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  so  I  knew  when  he  asked  me 
for  her." 


446  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"Was  she  going  after  flowers  thenf"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Oh,  no,  ma'am, — it  was  a  long  time  after  ;  it  was  this  morning 
some  time. — I  had  come  up  to  the  linen  closet,  knowing  Mr.  John 
was  in  his  room,  and  I  thought  I  was  safe;  and  I  had  just  taken 
two  or  three  pieces  on  my  arm,  you  know,  ma'am,  when  somehow 
I  forgot  myself,  and  forgot  what  I  had  come  for,  and  leaving  what 
I  should  ha'  been  a  doing,  I  was  standing  there,  looking  out  this 
way  at  the  dear  features  I  never  thought  to  see  in  death — and  I 
had  entirely  forgotten  what  I  was  there  for,  ma'am, — when  I  heard 
Miss  Ellen's  little  footstep  coming  softly  up  stairs.  I  didn't  want 
her  to  catch  sight  of  me  just  then,  so  I  had  just  drew  myself  back 
a  bit,  so  as  I  could  see  her  without  her  seeing  me  back  in  the  closet 
where  I  was.  But  it  had  like  to  have  got  the  better  of  me  entirely, 
ma'am,  when  I  see  her  come  in  with  a  lap  full  of  them  flowers, 
and  looking  so  as  she  did  too  !  but  with  much  trouble  I  kept  quiet. 
She  went  up  and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  just  where  Mrs. 
Chauncey  is  standing,  with  her  sweet  sad  little  face, — it's  the 
hardest  thing  to  see  a  child's  face  look  so, — and  the  flowers  all 
gathered  up  in  her  frock.  It  was  odd  to  see  her,  she  didn't  cry, — 
not  at  all — only  once  I  saw  her  brow  wrinkle,  but  it  seemed  as  if  she 
had  a  mind  not  to,  for  she  put  her  hand  up  to  her  face  and  held  it 
a  little,  and  then  she  began  to  take  out  the  flowers  one  by  one,  and 
she'd  lay  a  rose  here  and  a  rose-bud  there,  and  so;  and  then  she 
went  round  to  the  other  side  and  laid  the  lilies,  and  two  or  three 
more  roses  there  on  the  pillow.  But  I  could  see  all  the  while  it 
was  getting  too  much  for  her;  I  see  very  soon  she  wouldn't  get 
through  ;  she  just  placed  two  or  three  more,  and  one  rose  there  in 
that  hand,  and  that  was  the  last.  I  could  see  it  working  in  her 
face ;  she  turned  as  pale  as  her  lilies  all  at  once,  and  just  tossed  up 
all  the  flowers  out  of  her  frock  on  the  bed-foot  there, — that's  just 
as  they  fell, — and  down  she  went  on  her  knees,  and  her  face  in  her 
hands  on  the  side  of  the  bed.  I  thought  no  more  about  my  linen," 
said  Margery  weeping, — "  I  couldn't  do  any  thing  but  look  at  that 
child  kneeling  there,  and  her  flowers, — and  all  beside  her  she  used 
to  call  her  sister,  and  that  couldn't  be  a  sister  to  her  no  more ;  and 
she's  without  a  sister  now  to  be  sure,  poor  child!" 

"  She  has  a  brother,  unless  I  am  mistaken,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey, 
when  she  could  speak. 

"  And  that's  just  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  ma'am.  She  had 
been  there  five  or  ten  minutes  without  moving,  or  more — I  am  sure 
I  don't  know  how  long  it  was,  I  didn't  think  how  time  went, — when 
the  first  thing  I  knew  I  heard  another  step,  and  Mr.  John  came  in. 
I  thought,  and  expected,  he  was  taking  some  sleep ;  but  I  suppose," 
said  Margery  sighing,  "  he  couldn't  rest.  I  knew  his  step  and  just 
drew  myself  back  further.  He  came  just  where  you  are,  ma'am, 
and  stood  with  his  arms  folded  a  long  time  looking.  I  don't  know 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  447 

how  Miss  Ellen  didn't  hear  him  come  in  ;  but  however  she  didn't; 
— and  they  were  both  as  still  as  death,  one  on  one  side,  and  the 
other  on  the  other  side.  And  I  wondered  he  didn't  see  her;  but 
her  white  dress  and  all — and  I  suppose  he  had  no  thought  but  for 
one  thing.  I  knew  the  first  minute  he  did  see  her,  when  he  looked 
over  and  spied  her  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed  ; — I  see  his  colour 
change  ;  and  then  his  mouth  took  the  look  it  always  did  whenever 
he  sets  himself  to  do  any  thing.  He  stood  a  minute,  and  then  he 
went  round  and  knelt  down  beside  of  her,  and  softly  took  away  one 
of  her  hands  from  under  her  face,  and  held  it  in  both  of  his  own, 
and  then  he  made  such  a  prayer  ! — Oh,"  said  Margery,  her  tears 
falling  fast  at  the  recollection, — "  I  never  heard  the  like  !  I  never 
did !  He  gave  thanks  for  Miss  Alice,  and  he  had  reason  enough 
to  be  sure, — and  for  himself  and  Miss  Ellen — I  wondered  to  hear 
him  ! — and  he  prayed  for  them  too,  and  others,  —  and — oh,  I  thought 
I  couldn't  stand  and  hear  him;  and  I  was  afeard  to  breathe  the 
whole  time,  lest  he  would  know  I  was  there.  It  was  the  beauti- 
fullest  prayer  I  did  ever  hear,  or  ever  shall,  however." 

"And  how  did  Ellen  behave?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  when  she 
could  speak. 

"  She  didn't  stir,  nor  make  the  least  motion  nor  sound,  till  he  had 
done,  and  spoke  to  her.  They  stood  a  little  while  then,  and  Mr. 
John  put  the  rest  of  the  flowers  up  there  round  her  hands  and  the 
pillow, — Miss  Ellen  hadn't  put  more  than  half  a  dozen ; — I  no 
ticed  how  he  kept  hold  of  Miss  Ellen's  hand  all  the  time.  I  heard 
her  begin  to  tell  him  how  she  didn't  finish  the  flowers,  and  he  told 
her,  *  I  saw  it  all,  Ellie,'  he  said ;  and  he  said  '  it  didn't  want  fin 
ishing.'  I  wondered  how  he  should  see  it,  but  I  suppose  he  did, 
however,  /understood  it  very  well.  They  went  away  down  stairs 
after  that." 

"  He  is  beautifully  changed,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse. 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Margery, — "  I've  heard  that  said 
afore,  but  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  could  see  it.  He  always  was  the 
same  tome — always  the  honourablest,  truest,  noblest — my  husband 
says  he  was  a  bit  fiery,  but  I  never  could  tell  that  the  one  temper 
was  sweeter  than  the  other;  only  every  body  always  did  whatever 
Mr.  John  wanted,  to  be  sure  ;  but  he  was  the  perfectest  gentleman, 

1  1  J 

always. 

"  I  have  not  seen  either  Mr.  John  or  Ellen  since  my  mother  came," 
said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Margery, — "they  were  out  reading  under 
the  trees  for  a  long  time ;  and  Miss  Ellen  came  in  the  kitchen-way 
a  little  while  ago  and  went  to  lie  down." 

"  How  is  Mr.  Humphreys  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you,  ma'am, — he  is  worse  than  any  one  knows 
of  I  am  afraid,  unless  Mr.  John  ;  you  will  not  see  him,  ma'am ;  he 


448  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

has  not  been  here  once,  nor  don't  mean  to,  I  think.  It  will  go 
hard  with  my  poor  master,  I  am  afraid,1'  said  Margery  weeping ; — 
"dear  Miss  Alice  said  Miss  Ellen  was  to  take  her  place;  but  it 
would  want  an  angel  to  do  that." 

"Ellen  will  do  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse ; — "Mr.  Hum 
phreys  loves  her  well  now,  I  know." 

"  So  do  I,  ma'am,  I  am  sure  ;  and  so  does  every  one ;  but  still — " 

Margery  broke  off  her  sentence  and  sorrowfully  went  down  stairs. 
Mrs.  Chauncey  moved  no  more  flowers. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Margery  came  softly  into 
Ellen's  room. 

"  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  you  are  awake,  aren't  you?" 

"  Yes,  Margery,"  said  Ellen,  sitting  up  on  the  bed ; — "  come  in. 
What  is  it?" 

"  I  came  to  ask  Miss  Ellen  if  she  could  do  me  a  great  favour ; 
— there's  a  strange  gentleman  come,  and  nobody  has  seen  him  yet, 
and  it  don't  seem  right.  He  has  been  here  this  some  time." 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  John?" 

"No,  Miss  Ellen;  he's  in  the  library  with  my  master;  and 
somehow  I  durstn't  go  to  the  door;  mayhap  they  wouldn't  be  best 
pleased.  Would  Miss  Ellen  mind  telling  Mr.  John  of  the  gentle 
man's  being  here  ?" 

Ellen  would  mind  it  very  much,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that ; 
Margery  could  hardly  have  asked  her  to  put  a  greater  force  upon 
herself ;  she  did  not  say  so. 

"  You  are  sure  he  is  there,  Margery?" 

"  I  am  quite  sure,  Miss  Ellen.  I  am  very  sorry  to  disturb  you ; 
but  if  you  wouldn't  mind — I  am  ashamed  to  have  the  gentleman 
left  to  himself  so  long." 

u  I'll  do  it,  Margery." 

She  got  up,  slipped  on  her  shoes,  and  mechanically  smoothing 
her  hair,  set  off  to  the  library.  On  the  way  she  almost  repented 
her  willingness  to  oblige  Margery ;  the  errand  was  marvellous  dis 
agreeable  to  her.  She  had  never  gone  to  that  room  except  with 
Alice ;  never  entered  it  uninvited.  She  could  hardly  make  up  her 
mind  to  knock  at  the  door.  But  she  had  promised ;  it  must  be 
done. 

The  first  fearful  tap  was  too  light  to  arouse  any  mortal  ears.  At 
the  second,  though  not  much  better,  she  heard  some  one  move,  and 
John  opened  the  door.  Without  waiting  to  hear  her  speak  he  im 
mediately  drew  her  in,  very  unwillingly  on  her  part,  and  led  her 
silently  up  to  his  father.  The  old  gentleman  was  sitting  in  his 
great  study-chair  with  a  book  open  at  his  side.  He  turned  from 
it  as  she  came  up,  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  held  it  for  a  few  mo 
ments  without  speaking.  Ellen  dared  not  raise  her  eyes. 

"My  little  girl,"  said  he  very  gravely,  though  not  without  a 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  449 

tone  of  kindness  too, — "  are  you  coming  here  to  cheer  my  loneli 
ness?" 

Ellen  in  vain  struggled  to  speak  an  articulate  word  ;  it  was  impos 
sible  ;  she  suddenly  stooped  down  and  touched  her  lips  to  the  hand 
that  lay  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  He  put  the  hand  tenderly  upon 
her  head. 

"  G-od  bless  you,"  said  he,  ''abundantly,  for  all  the  love  you 
showed  her.  Come, — if  you  will, — and  be,  as  far  as  a  withered 
heart  will  let  you,  all  that  she  wished.  All  is  yours — except  what 
will  be  buried  with  her." 

Ellen  was  awed  and  pained  very  much.  Not  because  the  words 
and  manner  were  sad  and  solemn ;  it  was  the  tone  that  distressed 
her.  There  was  no  tearfulness  in  it ;  it  trembled  a  little  ;  it  seemed 
to  come  indeed  from  a  withered  heart.  She  shook  with  the  effort 
she  made  to  control  herself.  John  asked  her  presently  what  she 
had  come  for. 

"A  gentleman,"  said  Ellen, — "there's  a  gentleman — a  stranger — " 

He  went  immediately  out  to  see  him,  leaving  her  standing  there. 
Ellen  did  not  know  whether  to  go  too  or  stay ;  she  thought  from 
his  not  taking  her  with  him  he  wished  her  to  stay  ;  she  stood  doubt 
fully.  Presently  she  heard  steps  coming  back  along  the  hall — 
steps  of  two  persons — the  door  opened,  and  the  strange  gentleman 
came  in.  No  stranger  to  Ellen  !  she  knew  him  in  a  moment ;  it 
was  her  old  friend,  her  friend  of  the  boat, — Mr.  George  Marshman. 

Mr.  Humphreys  rose  up  to  meet  him,  and  the  two  gentlemen 
shook  hands  in  silence.  Ellen  had  at  first  shrunk  out  of  the  way 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and  now  when  she  saw  an  oppor 
tunity  she  was  going  to  make  her  escape  ;  but  John  gently  de 
tained  her ;  and  she  stood  still  by  his  side,  though  with  a  kind  of 
feeling  that  it  was  not  there  the  best  place  or  time  for  her  old  friend 
to  recognise  her.  He  was  sitting  by  Mr.  Humphreys  and  for  the 
present  quite  occupied  with  him.  Ellen  thought  nothing  of  what 
they  were  saying ;  with  eyes  eagerly  fixed  upon  Mr.  Marshman  she 
was  reading  memory's  long  story  over  again.  The  same  pleasant 
look  and  kind  tone  that  she  remembered  so  well  came  to  comfort 
her  in  her  first  sorrow, — the  old  way  of  speaking,  and  even  of 
moving  an  arm  or  hand,  the  familiar  figure  and  face ;  how  they 
took  Ellen's  thoughts  back  to  the  deck  of  the  steamboat,  the  hymns, 
the  talks ;  the  love  and  kindness  that  led  and  persuaded  her  so 
faithfully  and  effectually  to  do  her  duty  ; — it  was  all  present  again  ; 
and  Ellen  gazed  at  him  as  at  a  picture  of  the  past,  forgetting  for 
the  moment  every  thing  else.  The  same  love  and  kindness  were 
endeavouring  now  to  say  something  for  Mr.  Humphreys'  relief;  it 
was  a  hard  task.  The  old  gentleman  heard  and  answered,  for  the 
most  part  briefly,  but  so  as  to  show  that  his  friend  laboured  in 
vain  ;  the  bitterness  and  hardness  of  grief  were  unallayed  yet.  It 
dd  38* 


450  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

was  not  till  John  made  some  slight  remark  that  Mr.  Marshman 
turned  his  head  that  way ;  he  looked  for  a  moment  in  some  sur 
prise,  and  then  said,  his  countenance  lightening,  "  Is  that  Ellen 
Montgomery?" 

Ellen  sprang  across  at  that  word  to  take  his  out-stretched  hand. 
But  as  she  felt  the  well-remembered  grasp  of  it,  and  met  the  old 
look  the  thought  of  which  she  had  treasured  up  for  years, — it  was 
too  much.  Back  as  in  a  flood  to  her  heart,  seemed  to  come  at 
once  all  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  time  since  then ; — the 
difference  of  this  meeting  from  the  joyful  one  she  had  so  often 
pictured  to  herself;  the  sorrow  of  that  time  mixed  with  the  sorrow 
now ;  and  the  sense  that  the  very  hand  that  had  wiped  those  first 
tears  away  was  the  one  now  laid  in  the  dust  by  death.  All 
thronged  on  her  heart  at  once ;  and  it  was  too  much.  She  had 
scarce  touched  Mr.  Marshman' s  hand  when  she  hastily  withdrew 
her  own,  and  gave  way  to  an  overwhelming  burst  of  sorrow.  It 
was  infectious.  There  was  such  an  utter  absence  of  all  bitterness 
or  hardness  in  the  tone  of  this  grief;  there  was  so  touching  an  ex 
pression  of  submission  mingled  with  it,  that  even  Mr.  Humphreys 
was  overcome.  Ellen  was  not  the  only  subdued  weeper  there ; 
not  the  only  one  whose  tears  came  from  a  broken-up  heart.  For  a 
few  minutes  the  silence  of  stifled  sobs  was  in  the  room,  till  Ellen 
recovered  enough  to  make  her  escape ;  and  then  the  colour  of 
sorrow  was  lightened,  in  one  breast  at  least. 

"  Brother,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys, — u  I  can  hear  you  now  better 
than  I  could  a  little  while  ago.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  God 
is  good.  '  Light  in  the  darkness  ;' — I  see  it  now.  That  child  has 
given  me  a  lesson." 

Ellen  did  not  know  what  had  passed  around  her,  nor  what  had 
followed  her  quitting  the  room.  But  she  thought  when  John 
came  to  the  tea-table  he  looked  relieved.  If  his  general  kindness 
and  tenderness  of  manner  toward  herself  could  have  been  greater 
than  usual,  she  might  have  thought  it  was  that  night;  but  she 
only  thought  he  felt  better. 

Mr.  Marshman  was  not  permitted  to  leave  the  house.  He  was 
a  great  comfort  to  every  body.  Not  himself  overburdened  with 
sorrow,  he  was  able  to  make  that  effort  for  the  good  of  the  rest 
which  no  one  yet  had  been  equal  to.  The  whole  family,  except 
Mr.  Humphreys,  were  gathered  together  at  this  time ;  and  his 
grave  cheerful  unceasing  kindness  made  that  by  far  the  most 
comfortable  meal  that  had  been  taken.  It  was  exceeding  grateful 
to  Ellen  to  see  and  hear  him,  from  the  old  remembrance  as  well  as 
the  present  effect.  And  he  had  not  forgotten  his  old  kindness  for 
her  ;  she  saw  it  in  his  look,  his  words,  his  voice,  shown  in  every 
way ;  and  the  feeling  that  she  had  got  her  old  friend  again  and 
should  never  lose  him  now  gave  her  more  deep  pleasure  than  any 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  451 

thing  else  could  possibly  have  done  at  that  time.  His  own  family 
too  had  not  seen  him  in  a  long  time,  so  his  presence  was  matter  of 
general  satisfaction. 

Later  in  the  evening  Ellen  was  sitting  beside  him  on  the  sofa, 
looking  and  listening, — he  was  like  a  piece  of  old  music  to  her, — 
when  John  came  to  the  back  of  the  sofa  and  said  he  wanted  to 
speak  to  her.  She  went  with  him  to  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Ellie,"  said  he  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  think  my  father  would  like 
to  hear  you  sing  a  hymn, — do  you  think  you  could  ?" 

Ellen  loooked  up,  with  a  peculiar  mixture  of  uncertainty  and 
resolution  in  her  countenance,  and  said  yes. 

"  Not  if  it  will  pain  you  too  much, — and  not  unless  you  think 
you  can  surely  go  through  with  it,  Ellen,"  he  said  gently. 

"  No,"  said  Ellen  ;— "  I  will  try." 

"  Will  it  not  give  you  too  much  pain  ?  do  you  think  you  can  ?" 

"No — I  will  try,"  she  repeated. 

As  she  went  along  the  hall  she  said  and  resolved  to  herself  that 
she  would  do  it.  The  library  was  dark ;  coming  from  the  light 
Ellen  at  first  could  see  nothing.  John  placed  her  in  a  chair,  and 
went  away  himself  to  a  little  distance  where  he  remained  perfectly 
still.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  for  a  minute,  and 
prayed  for  strength  ;  she  was  afraid  to  try. 

Alice  and  her  brother  were  remarkable  for  beauty  of  voice  and 
utterance.  The  latter  Ellen  had  in  part  caught  from  them  ;  in  the 
former  she  thought  herself  greatly  inferior.  Perhaps  she  under 
rated  herself;  her  voice,  though  not  indeed  powerful,  was  low  and 
sweet  and  very  clear ;  and  the  entire  simplicity  and  feeling  with 
which  she  sang  hymns  was  more  effectual  than  any  higher  quali 
ties  of  tone  and  compass.  She  had  been  very  much  accustomed* 
to  sing  with  Alice,  who  excelled  in  beautiful  truth  and  simplicity 
of  expression  ;  listening  with  delight,  as  she  had  often  done,  and 
often  joining  with  her,  Ellen  had  caught  something  of  her  manner. 

She  thought  nothing  of  all  this  now  ;  she  had  a  trying  task  to 
go  through.  Sing  ! — then,  and  there  !  —  And  what  should  she 
sing  ?  All  that  class  of  hymns  that  bore  directly  on  the  subject 
of  their  sorrow  must  be  left  on  one  side ;  she  hardly  dared  think 
of  them.  Instinctively  she  took  up  another  class,  that  without 
baring  the  wound  would  lay  the  balm  close  to  it.  A  few  minutes 
of  deep  stillness  were  in  the  dark  room  ;  then  very  low,  and  in 
tones  that  trembled  a  little,  rose  the  words, 

How  sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds 

In  a  believer's  ear ; 
It  soothes  his  sorrows,  heals  his  wounds, 

And  drives  away  his  fear. 

The  tremble  in  her  voice  ceased,  as  she  went  on, — 


452  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

It  makes  the  wounded  spirit  whole, 

And  calms  the  troubled  breast ; 
'Tis  manna  to  the  hungry  soul, 

And  to  the  weary,  rest. 

By  him  my  prayers  acceptance  gain, 

Although  with  sin  defiled; 
Satan  accuses  me  in  vain, 

And  I  am  owned  a  child. 

Weak  is  the  effort  of  my  heart, 

And  cold  my  warmest  thought,— 
But  when  I  see  thee  as  thou  art, 

I'll  praise  thee  as  I  ought. 

Till  then  I  would  thy  love  proclaim 

With  every  lab'ring  breath; 
And  may  the  music  of  thy  name 

Refresh  my  soul  in  death. 

Ellen  paused  a  minute.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  in 
the  room.  She  thought  of  the  hymn,  "Loving  Kindness;"  but 
the  tune,  and  the  spirit  of  the  words,  was  too  lively.  Her 
mother's  favourite,  "  'Tis  my  happiness  below,"  but  Ellen  could 
not  venture  that ;  she  strove  to  forget  it  as  fast  as  possible.  She 
sang,  clearly  and  sweetly  as  ever  now, 

Hark  my  soul,  it  is  the  Lord, 
'Tis  thy  Saviour,  hear  his  word ; — 
Jesus  speaks,  and  speaks  to  thee, 
"  Say,  poor  sinner,  lovest  thou  me  ? 

"  I  delivered  thee  when  bound, 
And  when  bleeding  healed  thy  wound; 
Sought  thee  wandering,  set  thee  right, 
Turned  thy  darkness  into  light. 

"  Can  a  mother's  tender  care 
Cease  toward  the  child  she  bare  ? 
Yea — she  may  forgetful  be, 
Yet  will  I  remember  thee. 

"  Mine  is  an  unchanging  love ; 
Higher  than  the  heights  above, 
Deeper  than  the  depths  beneath, 
Free  and  faithful,  strong  as  death. 

"  Thou  shalt  see  my  glory  soon, 
When  the  work  of  life  is  done, 
Partner  of  my  throne  shalt  be, — 
Say,  poor  sinner,  lovest  thou  me  ?" 

Lord,  it  is  my  chief  complaint 
That  my  love  is  weak  and  faint ; 
Yet  I  love  thee  and  adore, — 
Oh,  for  grace  to  love  thee  more! 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  453 

Ellen's  task  was  no  longer  painful,  but  most  delightful.  She 
hoped  she  was  doing  some  good ;  and  that  hope  enabled  her,  after 
the  first  trembling  beginning,  to  go  on  without  any  difficulty.  She 
was  not  thinking  of  herself.  It  was  very  we'll  she  could  not  see 
the  effect  upon  her  auditors.  Through  the  dark  her  eyes  could 
only  just  discern  a  dark  figure  stretched  upon  the  sofa  and  another 
standing  by  the  mantel-piece.  The  room  was  profoundly  still, 
except  when  she  was  singing.  The  choice  of  hymns  gave  her  the 
greatest  trouble.  She  thought  of  "  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home," 
but  it  would  not  do ;  she  and  Alice  had  too  often  sung  it  in  strains 
of  joy.  Happily  came  to  her  mind  the  beautiful, 

"  How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord,"  <fec. 

She  went  through  all  the  seven  long  verses.  Still  when  Ellen 
paused  at  the  end  of  this,  the  breathless  silence  seemed  to  invite 
her  to  go  on.  She  waited  a  minute  to  gather  breath.  The  blessed 
words  had  gone  down  into  her  very  heart ;  did  they  ever  seem 
half  so  sweet  before?  She  was  cheered  and  strengthened,  and 
thought  she  could  go  through  with  the  next  hymn,  though  it  had 
been  much  loved  and  often  used,  both  by  her  mother  and  Alice. 

Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  billows  near  me  roll, 
While  the  tempest  still  is  nigh. 
Hide  me,  0  my  Saviour,  hide, 
Till  the  storm  of  life  be  past : — 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide, — 

0  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 

Other  refuge  have  I  none, 
Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  thee — 
Leave,  ah  !  leave  me  not  alone  ! 
Still  support  and  comfort  me. 
All  my  trust  on  thee  is  stayed, 
All  my  help  from  thee  I  bring ; — 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

Thou,  0  Christ,  art  all  I  want; 
More  than  all  in  thee  I  find  ; 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint, 
Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind. 
Just  and  holy  is  thy  name, 

1  am  all  unrighteousness  ; 
Vile  and  full  of  sin  I  am, 
Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 

Still  silence  ; — "  silence  that  spoke  !"  Ellen  did  not  know  what 
it  said,  except  that  her  hearers  did  not  wish  her  to  stop.  Her  next 
was  a  favourite  hymn  of  them  all. 

"  What  are  these  in  bright  array,"  <fcc. 


454  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  had  allowed  her  thoughts  to  travel  too  far  along  with  the 
words,  for  in  the  last  lines  her  voice  was  unsteady  and  faint.  She 
was  fain  to  make  a  longer  pause  than  usual  to  recover  herself. 
But  in  vain  ;  the  tender  nerve  was  touched  ;  there  was  no  stilling 
its  quivering. 

"  Ellen" — said  Mr.  Humphreys  then  after  a  few  minutes.  She 
rose  and  went  to  the  sofa.  He  folded  her  close  to  his  breast. 

"  Thank  you,  my  child,"  he  said  presently  ; — "you  have  been  a 
comfort  to  me.  Nothing  but  a  choir  of  angels  could  have  been 
sweeter." 

As  Ellen  went  away  back  through  the  hall  her  tears  almost 
choked  her ;  but  for  all  that  there  was  a  strong  throb  of  pleasure 
at  her  heart. 

\        "  I  have  been  a  comfort  to  him,"    she  repeated.     "Oh,  dear 
Alice  !— so  I  will." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

A  child  no  more  ! — a  maiden  now — 
A  graceful  maiden  with  a  gentle  brow ; 
A  cheek  tinged  lightly,  and  a  dove-like  eye, 
And  all  hearts  bless  her  as  she  passes  by. 

MAHY  HOWITT. 

THE  whole  Marshman  family  returned  to  Ventnor  immediately 
after  the  funeral,  Mr.  George  excepted;  he  stayed  with  Mr. 
Humphreys  over  the  Sabbath,  and  preached  for  him  ;  and  much  to 
everyone's  pleasure  lingered  still  a  day  or  two  longer;  then  he 
was  obliged  to  leave  them.  John  also  must  go  back  to  Doncaster 
for  a  few  weeks ;  he  would  not  be  able  to  get  home  again  before 
the  early  part  of  August.  For  the  month  between  and  as  much 
longer  indeed  as  possible,  Mrs.  Marshman  wished  to  have  Ellen  at 
Ventnor ;  assuring  her  that  it  was  to  be  her  home  always  when 
ever  she  chose  to  make  it  so.  At  first  neither  Mrs.  Marshman  nor 
her  daughters  would  take  any  denial ;  and  old  Mr.  Marshman  was 
fixed  upon  it.  But  Ellen  begged  with  tears  that  she  might  stay  at 
home  and  begin  at  once,  as  far  as  she  could,  to  take  Alice's  place. 
Her  kind  friends  insisted  that  it  would  do  her  harm  to  be  left  alone 
for  so  long,  at  such  a  season.  Mr.  Humphreys  at  the  best  of  times 
kept  very  much  to  himself,  and  now  he  would  more  than  ever  ; 
she  would  be  very  lonely.  "  But  how  lonely  Tie  will  be  if  I  go 
away!"  said  Ellen; — "I  can't  go."  Finding  that  her  heart  was 
set  upon  it,  and  that  it  would  be  a  real  grief  to  her  to  go  to  Vent 
nor,  John  at  last  joined  to  excuse  her;  and  he  made  an  arrange 
ment  with  Mrs.  Vawse  instead  that  she  should  come  and  stay  with 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  455 

Ellen  at  the  parsonage  till  he  came  back.  This  gave  Ellen  great 
satisfaction  ;  and  her  kind  Yentnor  friends  were  obliged  unwillingly 
to  leave  her. 

The  first  few  days  after  John's  departure  were  indeed  sad  days 
— very  sad  to  every  one  ;  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  Ellen  drooped 
miserably.  She  had,  however,  the  best  possible  companion  in  her 
old  Swiss  friend.  Her  good  sense,  her  steady  cheerfulness,  her 
firm  principle  were  always  awake  for  Ellen's  good,  ever  ready  to 
comfort  her,  to  cheer  her,  to  prevent  her  from  giving  undue  way 
to  sorrow,  to  urge  her  to  useful  exertion.  Affection  and  gratitude, 
to  the  living  and  the  dead,  gave  powerful  aid  to  these  efforts. 
Ellen  rose  up  in  the  morning  and  lay  down  at  night  with  the  pres 
ent  pressing  wish  to  do  and  be  for  the  ease  and  comfort  of  her 
adopted  father  and  brother  all  that  it  was  possible  for  her.  Very 
soon,  so  soon  as  she  could  rouse  herself  to  any  thing,  she  began  to 
turn  over  in  her  mind  all  manner  of  ways  and  means  for  this  end. 
And  in  general,  whatever  Alice  would  have  wished,  what  John  did 
wish,  was  law  to  her. 

"Margery,"  said  Ellen  one  day,  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me  all 
the  things  Alice  used  to  do ;  so  that  I  may  begin  to  do  them,  you 
know,  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  What  things,  Miss  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  mean,  the  things  she  used  to  do  about  the  house,  or  to  help 
you, — don't  you  know? — all  sorts  of  things.  I  want  to  know 
them  all,  so  that  I  may  do  them  as  she  did.  I  want  to  very 
much." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ellen,  dear,"  said  Margery,  tearfully,  "  you  are  too 
little  and  tender  to  do  them  things ; — I'd  be  sorry  to  see  you, 
indeed  !" 

"Why  no,  I  am  not,  Margery,"  said  Ellen  ;  "don't  you  know 
how  I  used  to  do  at  aunt  Fortune's?  Now  tell  me — please,  dear 
Margery !  If  I  can't  do  it,  I  won't  you  know." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Ellen,  she  used  to  see  to  various  things  about  the 
house  ; — I  don't  know  as  I  can  tell  'em  all  directly  ;  some  was  to 
help  me ;  and  some  to  please  her  father  or  Mr.  John,  if  he  was  at 
home  ;  she  thought  of  every  one  before  herself,  sure  enough." 

"Well  what,  Margery?  what  are  they?  Tell  me  all  you  can 
remember." 

"  Why,  Miss  Ellen, — for  one  thing, — she  used  to  go  into  the 
library  every  morning,  to  put  it  in  order,  and  dust  the  books  and 
papers  and  things  ;  in  fact  she  took  the  charge  of  that  room  en 
tirely  ;  I  never  went  into  it  at  all,  unless  once  or  twice  in  the  year, 
or  to  wash  the  windows." 

Ellen  looked  grave ;  she  thought  with  herself  there  might  be  a 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  her  taking  this  part  of  Alice's  daily  duties; 
she  did  not  feel  that  she  had  the  freedom  of  the  library. 


456  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  And  then,"  said  Margery,  u  she  used  to  skim  the  cream  for 
me,  most  mornings,  when  I'd  be  busy ;  and  wash  up  the  breakfast 
things, — " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  all  about  the  breakfast  things !"  exclaimed  Ellen, 
—  "how  could  I!  I'll  do  them  to  be  sure,  after  this.  I  never 
thought  of  them,  Margery.  And  I'll  skim  the  cream  too." 

"  Dear  Miss  Ellen,  I  wouldn't  want  you  to  ;  I  didn't  mention  it 
for  that,  but  you  was  wishing  me  to  tell  you — I  don't  want  you  to 
trouble  your  dear  little  head  about  such  work.  It  was  more  the 
thoughtfulness  that  cared  about  me  than  the  help  of  all  she  could 
do,  though  that  wasn't  a  little  ; — I'll  get  along  well  enough  ! — " 

"  But  I  should  like  to, — it  would  make  me  happier ;  and  don't 
you  think  /want  to  help  you  too,  Margery?" 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Margery,  in  a  sort  of 
desperation,  setting  down  one  iron  and  taking  up  another,  "  don't 
talk  in  that  way,  or  you'll  upset  me  entirely. — I  ain't  a  bit  better 
than  a  child,"  said  she,  her  tears  falling  fast  on  the  sheet  she  was 
hurriedly  ironing. 

"What  else,  dear  Margery?"  said  Ellen  presently.  "  Tell  me 
what  else?" 

"  Well,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Margery,  dashing  away  the  water 
from  either  eye, — "  she  used  to  look  over  the  clothes  when  they 
went  up  from  the  wash ;  and  put  them  away  ;  and  mend  them  if 
there  was  any  places  wanted  mending." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  don't  know  how  to  manage  that,"  said  Ellen 
very  gravely. — "  There  is  one  thing  I  can  do, — I  can  darn  stock 
ings  very  nicely  ;  but  that's  only  one  kind  of  mending.  I  don't 
know  much  about  the  other  kinds." 

"  Ah,  well,  but  she  did,  however,"  said  Margery,  searching  in 
her  basket  of  clothes  for  some  particular  pieces.  "  A  beautiful 
mender  she  was  to  be  sure  !  Look  here,  Miss  Ellen, — just  see  that 
patch — the  way  it  is  put  on — so  evenly  by  a  thread  all  round ;  and 
the  stitches,  see — and  see  the  way  this  rent  is  darned  down ; — oh, 
that  was  the  way  she  did  every  thing  !" 

"  I  can't  do  it  so,"  said  Ellen  sighing, — "  but  lean  learn; — that 
I  can  do.  You  will  teach  me,  Margery,  won't  you?" 

"Indeed,  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  it's  more  than  I  can  myself;  but  I 
will  tell  you  who  will ;  and  that's  Mrs.  Vawse.  I  am  thinking  it 
was  her  she  learned  of  in  the  first  place, — but  I  ain't  certain.  Any 
how  she's  a  first-rate  hand." 

"Then  I'll  get  her  to  teach  me,"  said  Ellen; — "  that  will  do 
very  nicely.  And  now,  Margery,  what  else?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  Miss  Ellen, — I  don't  know, — there  was  a  thousand 
little  things  that  I'd  only  recollect  at  the  minute;  she'd  set  the 
table  for  me  when  my  hands  was  uncommon  full ;  and  often  she'd 
come  out  and  make  some  little  thing  for  the  master  when  I 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  457 

wouldn't  have  the  time  to  do  the  same  myself; — and  I  can't  tell — 
one  can't  think  of  those  things  but  just  at  the  minute.  Dear  Miss 
Ellen,  I'd  be  sorry  indeed  to  see  you  a  trying  your  little  hands  to 
do  all  that  she  done." 

"Never  mind,  Margery,"  said  Ellen,  and  she  threw  her  arms 
round  the  kind  old  woman  as  she  spoke, — "  I  won't  trouble  you — 
and  you  won't  be  troubled  if  I  am  awkward  about  any  thing  at 
first,  will  you  ?" 

Margery  could  only  throw  down  her  holder  to  return  most  affec 
tionately  as  well  as  respectfully  Ellen's  caress  and  press  a  very 
hearty  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

Ellen  next  went  to  Mrs.  Vawse  to  beg  her  help  in  the  mending 
and  patching  line.  Her  old  friend  was  very  glad  to  see  her  take 
up  any  thing  with  interest,  and  readily  agreed  to  do  her  best  in  the 
matter.  So  some  old  clothes  were  looked  up ;  pieces  of  linen,  cot 
ton,  and  flannel  gathered  together ;  a  large  basket  found  to  hold  all 
these  rags  of  shape  and  no  shape ;  and  for  the  next  week  or  two 
Ellen  was  indefatigable.  She  would  sit  making  vain  endeavours  to 
arrange  a  large  linen  patch  properly,  till  her  cheeks  were  burning 
with  excitement ;  and  bend  over  a  darn,  doing  her  best  to  make  in 
visible  stitches,  till  Mrs.  Vawse  was  obliged  to  assure  her  it  was 
quite  unnecessary  to  take  so  much  pains.  Taking  pains,  however, 
is  the  sure  way  to  success.  Ellen  could  not  rest  satisfied  till  she 
had  equalled  Alice's  patching  and  darning ;  and  though  when  Mrs. 
Vawse  left  her  she  had  not  quite  reached  that  point,  she  was  bid 
ding  fair  to  do  so  in  a  little  while. 

In  other  things  she  was  more  at  home.  She  could  skim  milk 
well  enough,  and  immediately  began  to  do  it  for  Margery.  She  at 
once  also  took  upon  herself  the  care  of  the  parlour  cupboard  and 
all  the  things  in  it,  which  she  well  knew  had  been  Alice's  office; 
and  thanks  to  Miss  Fortune's  training,  even  Margery  was  quite  sat 
isfied  with  her  neat  and  orderly  manner  of  doing  it.  Ellen  begged 
her  when  the  clothes  came  up  from  the  wash,  to  show  her  where 
every  thing  went,  so  that  for  the  future  she  might  be  able  to  put 
them  away ;  and  she  studied  the  shelves  of  the  linen  closet,  and 
the  chests  of  drawers  in  Mr.  Humphreys'  room,  till  she  almost 
knew  them  by  heart.  As  to  the  library,  she  dared  not  venture. 
She  saw  Mr.  Humphreys  at  meals  and  at  prayers, — only  then.  He 
had  never  asked  her  to  come  into  his  study  since  the  night  she 
sang  to  him,  and  as  for  her  asking — nothing  could  have  been  more 
impossible.  Even  when  he  was  out  of  the  house,  out  by  the  hour, 
Ellen  never  thought  of  going  where  she  had  not  been  expressly 
permitted  to  go. 

When  Mr.  Van  Brunt  informed  his  wife  of  Ellen's  purpose  to 
desert  her  service  and  make  her  future  home  at  the  parsonage,  the 
lady's  astonishment  was  only  less  than  her  indignation  ;  the  latter 
u  39 


458  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD 

not  at  all  lessened  by  learning  that  Ellen  was  to  become  the  adopted 
child  of  the  house.  For  a  while  her  words  of  displeasure  were 
poured  forth  in  a  torrent ;  Mr.  Van  Brunt  meantime  saying  very 
little,  and  standing  by  like  a  steadfast  rock  that  the  waves  dash 
past,  not  upon.  She  declared  this  was  "  the  cap-sheaf  of  Miss 
Humphreys'  doing ;  she  might  have  been  wise  enough  to  have  ex 
pected  as  much;  she  wouldn't  have  been  such  a  fool  if  she  had ! 
This  was  what  she  had  let  Ellen  go  there  for  !  a  pretty  return  1' '  But 
she  went  on.  "  She  wondered  who  they  thought  they  had  to  deal 
with  ;  did  they  think  she  was  going  to  let  Ellen  go  in  that  way  ? 
she  had  the  first  and  only  right  to  her ;  and  Ellen  had  no  more 
business  to  go  and  give  herself  away  than  one  of  her  oxen ;  they 
would  find  it  out,  she  guessed,  pretty  quick  ;  Mr.  John  and  all ; 
she'd  have  her  back  in  no  time  !"  What  were  her  thoughts  and 
feelings,  when  after  having  spent  her  breath  she  found  her  husband 
quietly  opposed  to  this  conclusion,  words  cannot  tell.  Her  words 
could  not ;  she  was  absolutely  dumb,  till  he  had  said  his  say ;  and 
then,  appalled  by  the  serenity  of  his  manner  she  left  indignation 
on  one  side  for  the  present  and  began  to  argue  the  matter.  But 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  coolly  said  he  had  promised  ;  she  might  get  as  many 
help  as  she  liked,  he  would  pay  for  them  and  welcome ;  but  Ellen 
would  have  to  stay  where  she  was.  He  had  promised  Miss  Alice ; 
and  he  wouldn't  break  his  word  "for  kings,  lords,  and  commons." 
A  most  extraordinary  expletive  for  a  good  republican, — which  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  had  probably  inherited  from  his  father  and  grandfather. 
What  can  waves  do  against  a  rock  ?  The  whilome  Miss  Fortune 
disdained  a  struggle  which  must  end  in  her  own  confusion,  and 
wisely  kept  her  chagrin  to  herself,  never  even  approaching  the  sub 
ject  afterwards,  with  him  or  any  other  person.  Ellen  had  left  the 
whole  matter  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  expecting  a  storm  and  not  wishing 
to  share  it.  Happily  it  all  blew  over. 

As  the  month  drew  to  an  end,  and  indeed  long  before,  Ellen's 
thoughts  began  to  go  forward  eagerly  to  John  coming  home.  She 
had  learned  by  this  time  how  to  mend  clothes ;  she  had  grown 
somewhat  wonted  to  her  new  round  of  little  household  duties ;  in 
every  thing  else  the  want  of  him  was  felt.  Study  flagged  ;  though 
knowing  what  his  wish  would  be,  and  what  her  duty  was,  she  faith 
fully  tried  to  go  on  with  it.  She  had  no  heart  for  riding  or  walking 
by  herself.  She  was  lonely ;  she  was  sorrowful ;  she  was  weary  ;  all 
Mrs.  Vawse's  pleasant  society  was  not  worth  the  mere  knowledge 
that  he  was  in  the  house ;  she  longed  for  his  coming. 

He  had  written  what  day  they  might  expect  him.  But  when  it 
came,  Ellen  found  that  her  feeling  had  changed ;  it  did  not  look 
the  bright  day  she  had  expected  it  would.  Up  to  that  time  she 
had  thought  only  of  herself;  now  she  remembered  what  sort  of  a 
coming  home  this  must  be  to  him  ;  and  she  dreaded  almost  as  much 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  459 

as  she  wished  for  the  moment  of  his  arrival.  Mrs.  Vawse  was 
surprised  to  see  that  her  face  was  sadder  that  day  than  it  had  been 
for  many  past ;  she  could  not  understand  it.  Ellen  did  not  explain. 
It  was  late  in  the  day  before  he  reached  home,  and  her  anxious 
watch  of  hope  and  fear  for  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet  grew  very 
painful.  She  busied  herself  with  setting  the  tea-table  ;  it  was  all 
done ;  and  she  could  by  no  means  do  any  thing  else.  She  could 
not  go  to  the  door  to  listen  there ;  she  remembered  too  well  the 
last  time ;  and  she  knew  he  would  remember  it. 

He  came  at  last.  Ellen's  feeling  had  judged  rightly  of  his,  for 
the  greeting  was  without  a  word  on  either  side ;  and  when  he  left 
the  room  to  go  to  his  father,  it  was  very,  very  long  before  he  came 
back.  And  it  seemed  to  Ellen  for  several  days  that  he  was  more 

frave  and  talked  less  than  even  the  last  time  he  had  been  at  home, 
he  was  sorry  when  Mrs.  Vawse  proposed  to  leave  them.  But  the 
old  lady  wisely  said  they  would  all  feel  better  when  she  was  gone ; 
and  it  was  so.  Truly  as  she  was  respected  and  esteemed,  on  all 
sides,  it  was  felt  a  relief  by  every  one  of  the  family  when  she 
went  back  to  her  mountain-top.  They  were  left  to  themselves ; 
they  saw  what  their  numbers  were ;  there  was  no  restraint  upon 
looks,  words,  or  silence.  Ellen  saw  at  once  that  the  gentlemen 
felt  easier,  that  was  enough  to  make  her  so.  The  extreme  oppres 
sion  that  had  grieved  and  disappointed  her  the  first  few  days  after 
John's  return,  gave  place  to  a  softened  gravity  ;  and  the  household 
fell  again  into  all  its  old  ways ;  only  that  upon  every  brow  there 
was  a  chastened  air  of  sorrow,  in  everything  that  was  said  a  tone 
of  remembrance,  and  that  a  little  figure  was  going  about  where 
Alice's  used  to  move  as  mistress  of  the  house. 

Thanks  to  her  brother,  that  little  figure  was  an  exceeding  busy 
one.  She  had  in  the  first  place,  her  household  duties,  in  discharging 
which  she  was  perfectly  untiring.  From  the  cream  skimmed  for 
Margery,  and  the  cups  of  coffee  poured  out  every  morning  for  Mr. 
Humphreys  and  her  brother,  to  the  famous  mending  which  took 
up  often  one  half  of  Saturday,  whatever  she  did  was  done  with 
her  best  diligence  and  care  ;  and  from  love  to  both  the  dead  and 
the  living,  Ellen's  zeal  never  slackened.  These  things  however 
filled  but  a  small  part  of  her  time,  let  her  be  as  particular  as  she 
would ;  and  Mr.  John  effectually  hindered  her  from  being  too  par 
ticular.  He  soon  found  a  plenty  for  both  her  and  himself  to  do. 

Not  that  they  ever  forgot  or  tried  to  forget  Alice ;  on  the  con 
trary.  They  sought  to  remember  her,  humbly,  calmly,  hopefully, 
thankfully !  By  diligent  performance  of  duty,  by  Christian  faith, 
by  conversation  and  prayer,  they  strove  to  do  this  ;  and  after  a 
time  succeeded.  Sober  that  winter  was,  but  it  was  very  far  from 
being  an  unhappy  one. 

"John,"  said  Ellen  one  day,  some  time  after  Mrs.  Vawse  had 


460  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

left  them, — "  do  you  think  Mr.  Humphreys  would  let  me  go  into 
his  study  every  day  when  he  is  out,  to  put  it  in  order  and  dust  the 
books?" 

"  Certainly.     But  why  does  not  Margery  do  it?" 

"  She  does,  I  believe,  but  she  never  used  to ;  and  I  should  like 
to  do  it  very  much  if  I  was  sure  he  would  not  dislike  it.  I  would 
be  careful  not  to  disturb  any  thing ;  I  would  leave  every  thing  just 
as  I  found  it." 

"  You  may  go  when  you  please,  and  do  what  you  please  there, 
Ellie." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to — I  couldn't  without  speaking  to  him  first ; 
I  should  be  afraid  he  would  come  back  and  find  me  there,  and  he 
might  think  I  hadn't  had  leave." 

"And  you  wish  me  to  speak  to  him, — is  that  it?  Cannot  you 
muster  resolution  enough  for  that,  Ellie?" 

Ellen  was  satisfied,  for  she  knew  by  his  tone  he  would  do  what 
she  wanted. 

"  Father,"  said  John,  the  next  morning  at  breakfast ; — "  Ellen 
wishes  to  take  upon  herself  the  daily  care  of  your  study,  but  she 
is  afraid  to  venture  without  being  assured  it  will  please  you  to  see 
her  there." 

The  old  gentleman  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  Ellen's  head, 
and  told  her  she  was  welcome  to  come  and  go  when  she  would ; — 
the  whole  house  was  hers. 

The  grave  kindness  and  tenderness  of  the  tone  and  action 
spoiled  Ellen's  breakfast.  She  could  not  look  at  any  body  nor 
hold  up  her  head  for  the  rest  of  the  time. 

As  Alice  had  anticipated,  her  .brother  was  called  to  take  the 
charge  of  a  church  at  Randolph,  and  at  the  same  time  another 
more  distant  was  offered  him.  He  refused  them  both,  rightly 
judging  that  his  place  for  the  present  was  at  home.  But  the  call 
from  Randolph  being  pressed  upon  him  very  much,  he  at  length 
agreed  to  preach  for  them  during  the  winter ;  riding  thither  for 
the  purpose  every  Saturday,  and  returning  to  Carra-carra  on 
Monday. 

As  the  winter  wore  one,  a  grave  cheerfulness  stole  over  the 
household.  Ellen  little  thought  how  much  she  had  to  do  with  it. 
She  never  heard  Margery  tell  her  husband,  which  she  often  did 
with  great  affection,  "that  that  blessed  child  was  the  light  of  the 
house."  And  those  who  felt  it  the  most  said  nothing.  Ellen  was 
sure,  indeed,  from  the  way  in  which  Mr.  Humphreys  spoke  to  her, 
looked  at  her,  now  and  then  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  some 
times,  very  rarely,  kissed  her  forehead,  that  he  loved  her  and  loved 
to  see  her  about ;  and  that  her  wish  of  supplying  Alice's  place  was 
in  some  little  measure  fulfilled.  Few  as  those  words  and  looks 
were,  they  said  more  to  Ellen  than  whole  discourses  would  from 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  461 

other  people  ;  the  least  of  them  gladdened  her  heart  with  the  feel 
ing  that  she  was  a  comfort  to  him.  But  she  never  knew  how 
much.  Deep  as  the  gloom  still  over  him  was,  Ellen  never  dreamed 
how  much  deeper  it  would  have  been,  but  for  the  little  figure 
flitting  round  and  filling  up  the  vacancy  ;  how  much  he  reposed  on 
the  gentle  look  of  affection,  the  pleasant  voice,  the  watchful 
thoughtfulriess  that  never  left  any  thing  undone  that  she  could  do 
for  his  pleasure.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know  it  himself.  She  was 
not  sure  he  even  noticed  many  of  the  little  things  she  daily  did  or 
tried  to  do  for  him.  Always  silent  and  reserved,  he  was  more  so 
now  than  ever ;  she  saw  him  little,  and  very  seldom  long  at  a  time, 
unless  when  they  were  riding  to  church  together ;  he  was  always 
in  his  study  or  abroad.  But  the  trifles  she  thought  he  did  not  see 
were  noted  and  registered,  and  repaid  with  all  the  affection  he  had 
to  give. 

As  for  Mr.  John,  it  never  came  into  Ellen's  head  to  think 
whether  she  was  a  comfort  to  him  ;  he  was  a  comfort  to  her  ;  she 
looked  at  it  in  quite  another  point  of  view.  He  had  gone  to  his 
old  sleeping-room  up  stairs,  which  Margery  had  settled  with  her 
self  he  would  make  his  study  ;  and  for  that  he  had  taken  the 
sitting-room.  This  was  Ellen's  study  too,  so  she  was  constantly 
with  him ;  and  of  the  quietest  she  thought  her  movements  would 
have  to  be. 

"  What  are  you  stepping  so  softly  for?"  said  he,  ope  day,  catch 
ing  her  hand  as  she  was  passing  near  him. 

"  You  were  busy — I  thought  you  were  busy,"  said  Ellen. 

"  And  what  then  ?" 

"  I  was  afraid  of  disturbing  you." 

"You  never  disturb  me,"  said  he; — "you  need  not  fear  it. 
Step  as  you  please,  and  do  not  shut  the  doors  carefully.  I  see  you 
and  hear  you;  but  without  any  disturbance." 

Ellen  found  it  was  so.  But  she  was  an  exception  to  the  general 
rule;  other  people  disturbed  him,  as  she  had  one  or  two  occasions 
of  knowing. 

Of  one  thing  she  was  perfectly  sure,  whatever  he  might  be 
doing, — that  he  saw  and  heard  her ;  and  equally  sure  that  if  any 
thing  were  not  right  she  should  sooner  or  later  hear  of  it.  But 
this  was  a  censorship  Ellen  rather  loved  than  feared.  In  the  first 
place,  she  was  never  misunderstood ;  in  the  second,  however 
ironical  and  severe  he  might  be  to  others,  and  Ellen  knew  he  could 
be  both  when  there  was  occasion,  he  never  was  either  to  her. 
With  great  plainness  always,  but  with  an  equally  happy  choice  of 
time  and  manner,  he  either  said  or  looked  what  he  wished  her  to 
understand.  This  happened  indeed  only  about  comparative  trifles  ; 
to  have  seriously  displeased  him,  Ellen  would  have  thought  the 
last  great  evil  that  could  fall  upon  her  in  this  world. 

39* 


462  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

One  day  Margery  came  into  the  room  with  a  paper  in  her 
hand. 

"  Miss  Ellen,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone, — "here  is  Anthony  Fox 
again — he  has  brought  another  of  his  curious  letters  that  he  wants 
to  know  if  Miss  Ellen  will  be  so  good  as  to  write  out  for  him  once 
more.  He  says  he  is  ashamed  to  trouble  you  so  much." 

Ellen  was  reading,  comfortably  ensconced  in  the  corner  of  the 
wide  sofa.  She  gave  a  glance,  a  most  ungratified  one,  at  the  very 
original  document  in  Margery's  hand.  Unpromising  it  certainly 
looked. 

"  Another  !  Dear  me  ! — I  wonder  if  there  isn't  somebody  else 
he  could  get  to  do  it  for  him,  Margery  ?  I  think  I  have  had  my 
share.  You  don't  know  what  a  piece  of  work  it  is,  to  copy  out 
one  of  those  scrawls.  It  takes  me  ever  so  long  in  the  first  place 
to  find  what  he  has  written,  and  then  to  put  it  so  that  any  one 
else  can  make  sense  of  it — I've  got  about  enough  of  it.  Don't 
you  suppose  he  could  find  plenty  of  other  people  to  do  it  for 
him  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Ellen,— I  suppose  he  could." 

"Then  ask  him,  do  ;  won't  you,  Margery?  I'm  so  tired  of  it! 
and  this  is  the  third  one  ;  and  I've  got  something  else  to  do.  Ask 
him  if  there  isn't  somebody  else  he  can  get  to  do  it ; — if  there 
isn't,  I  will ; — tell  him  I  am  busy." 

Margery  withdrew  and  Ellen  buried  herself  again  in  her  book. 
Anthony  Fox  was  a  poor  Irishman,  whose  uncouth  attempts  at  a 
letter  Ellen  had  once  offered  to  write  out  and  make  straight  for 
him,  upon  hearing  Margery  tell  of  his  lamenting  that  he  could  not 
make  one  fit  to  send  home  to  his  mother. 

Presently  Margery  came  in  again,  stopping  this  time  at  the  table 
which  Mr.  John  had  pushed  to  the  far  side  of  the  room  to  get 
away  from  the  fire. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  said, — "I  am  ashamed  to  be  so 
troublesome, — but  this  Irish  body,  this  Anthony  Fox,  has  begged 
me,  and  I  didn't  know  how  to  refuse  him,  to  come  in  and  ask  for 
a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pen  for  him,  sir, — he  wants  to  copy  a  letter, 
— if  Mr.  John  would  be  so  good ;  a  quill  pen,  sir,  if  you  please  ; 
he  cannot  write  with  any  other." 

"  No,"  said  John  coolly.     "  Ellen  will  do  it." 

Margery  looked  in  some  doubt  from  the  table  to  the  sofa,  but 
Ellen  instantly  rose  up  and  with  a  burning  cheek  came  forward 
and  took  the  paper  from  the  hand  where  Margery  still  held  it. 

"  Ask  him  to  wait  a  little  while,  Margery,"  she  said  hurriedly, 
— "  I'll  do  it  as  soon  as  I  can, — tell  him  in  half  an  hour." 

It  was  not  a  very  easy  nor  quick  job.  Ellen  worked  at  it  pa 
tiently,  and  finished  it  well  by  the  end  of  the  half  hour  ;  though 
with  a  burning  cheek  still  j  and  a  dimness  over  her  eyes  frequently 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  463 

obliged  her  to  stop  till  she  could  clear  them.  It  was  done,  and  she 
carried  it  out  to  the  kitchen  herself. 

The  poor  man's  thanks  were  very  warm  ;  but  that  was  not  what 
Ellen  wanted.  She  could  not  rest  till  she  had  got  another  word 
from  her  brother.  He  was  busy  ;  she  dared  not  speak  to  him  ;  she 
sat  fidgeting  and  uneasy  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa  till  it  was  time 
to  get  ready  for  riding.  She  had  plenty  of  time  to  make  up  her 
mind  about  the  right  and  the  wrong  of  her  own  conduct. 

During  the  ride  he  was  just  as  usual,  and  she  began  to  think  he 
did  not  mean  to  say  any  thing  more  on  the  matter.  Pleasant  talk 
and  pleasant  exercise  had  almost  driven  it  out  of  her  head,  when 
as  they  were  walking  their  horses  over  a  level  place,  he  suddenly 
began, 

"  By  the  by,  you  are  too  busy,  Ellie,"  said  he.  "Which  of 
your  studies  shall  we  cut  off?" 

"  Please,  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen  blushing, — "  don't  say  any  thing 
about  that !  I  was  not  studying  at  all — I  was  just  amusing  my 
self  with  a  book — I  was  only  selfish  and  lazy." 

"  Only — I  would  rather  you  were  too  busy,  Ellie." 

Ellen's  eyes  filled. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  she  said, — "  I  knew  it  at"  the  time, — at  least  as 
soon  as  you  spoke  I  knew  it ;  and  a  little  before  ; — I  was  very 
wrong !" 

And  his  keen  eye  saw  that  the  confession  was  not  out  of  com 
pliment  to  him  merely ;  it  came  from  the  heart. 

"  You  are  right  now,"  he  said  smiling.  "  But  how  are  your 
reins?" 

Ellen's  heart  was  at  rest  again. 

"Oh,  I  forgot  them,"  said  she  gayly, — "  I  was  thinking  of 
something  else." 

"  You  must  not  talk  when  you  are  riding,  unless  you  can  con 
trive  to  manage  two  things  at  once ;  and  no  more  lose  command 
of  your  horse  than  you  would  of  yourself." 

Ellea's  eye  met  his  with  all  the  contrition,  affection,  and  in 
genuousness  that  even  he  wished  to  see  there ;  and  they  put  their 
horses  to  the  canter. 

This  winter  was  in  many  ways  a  very  precious  one  to  Ellen. 
French  gave  her  now  no  trouble  ;  she  was  a  clever  arithmetician  ; 
she  knew  geography  admirably,  and  was  tolerably  at  home  in  both 
English  and  American  history  ;  the  way  was  cleared  for  the  course 
of  improvement  in  which  her  brother's  hand  led  and  helped  her. 
He  put  her  into  Latin  ;  carried  on  the  study  of  natural  philosophy 
they  had  begun  the  year  before,  and  which  with  his  instructions 
was  perfectly  delightful  to  Ellen ;  he  gave  her  some  works  of 
stronger  reading  than  she  had  yet  tried,  besides  histories  in  French 
and  English,  and  higher  branches  of  arithmetic.  These  things 


464  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

were  not  crowded  together  so  as  to  fatigue,  nor  hurried  through  so 
as  to  overload.  Carefully  and  thoroughly  she  was  obliged  to  put 
her  mind  through  every  subject  they  entered  upon;  and  just  at 
that  age,  opening  as  her  understanding  was,  it  grappled  eagerly 
with  all  that  he  gave  her,  as  well  from  love  to  learning  as  from 
love  to  him.  In  reading  too,  she  began  to  take  new  and  strong 
delight.  Especially  two  or  three  new  English  periodicals,  which 
John  sent  for  on  purpose  for  her,  were  mines  of  pleasure  to  Ellen. 
There  was  no  fiction  in  them  either ;  they  were  as  full  of  instruc 
tion  as  of  interest.  At  all  times  of  the  day  and  night,  in  her  in 
tervals  of  business,  Ellen  might  be  seen  with  one  of  these  in  her 
hand  ;  nestled  among  the  cushions  of  the  sofa,  or  on  a  little  bench 
by  the  side  of  the  fireplace  in  the  twilight,  where  she  could  have 
the  benefit  of  the  blaze,  which  she  loved  to  read  by  as  well  as  ever. 
Sorrowful  remembrances  were  then  flown,  all  things  present  were 
out  of  view,  and  Ellen's  face  was  dreamingly  happy. 

It  was  well  there  was  always  somebody  by,  who  whatever  he 
might  himself  be  doing,  never  lost  sight  of  her.  If  ever  Ellen 
was  in  danger  of  bending  too  long  over  her  studies  or  indulging 
herself  too  much  in  the  sofa-corner,  she  was  sure  to  be  broken  off 
to  take  an  hour  or  two  of  smart  exercise,  riding  or  walking,  or  to 
recite  some  lesson  (and  their  recitations  were  very  lively  things), 
or  to  read  aloud,  or  to  talk.  Sometimes  if  he  saw  that  she  seemed 
to  be  drooping  or  a  little  sad,  he  would  come  and  sit  down  by  her 
side  or  call  her  to  his,  find  out  what  she  was  thinking  about ;  and 
then,  instead  of  slurring  it  over,  talk  of  it  fairly  and  set  it  before 
her  in  such  a  light  that  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  it  again 
gloomily,  for  that  day  at  least.  Sometimes  he  took  other  ways ; 
but  never  when  he  was  present  allowed  her  long  to  look  weary  or 
sorrowful.  He  often  read  to  her,  and  every  day  made  her  read 
aloud  to  him.  This  Ellen  disliked  very  much  at  first,  and  ended 
with  as  much  liking  it.  She  had  an  admirable  teacher.  He 
taught  her  how  to  manage  her  voice  and  how  to  manage  the 
language ;  in  both  which  he  excelled  himself,  and  was  determined 
that  she  should  ;  and  besides  this  their  reading  often  led  to  talking 
that  Ellen  delighted  in.  Always  when  he  was  making  copies  for 
her  she  read  to  him,  and  once  at  any  rate  in  the  course  of  the 
day. 

Every  day  when  the  weather  would  permit,  the  Black  Prince 
and  the  Brownie  with  their  respective  riders  might  be  seen  abroad 
in  the  country  far  and  wide.  In  the  course  of  their  rides  Ellen's 
horsemanship  was  diligently  perfected.  Very  often  their  turning- 
place  was  on  the  top  of  the  Cat's  back,  and  the  horses  had  a  rest 
and  Mrs.  Vawse  a  visit  before  they  went  down  again.  They  had 
long  walks  too,  by  hill  and  dale ;  pleasantly  silent  or  pleasantly 
talkative, — all  pleasant  to  Ellen  ! 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  465 

Her  only  lonely  or  sorrowful  time  was  when  John  was  gone  to 
Randolph.  It  began  early  Saturday  morning,  and  perhaps  ended 
with  Sunday  night;  for  all  Monday  was  hope  and  expectation. 
Even  Saturday  she  had  not  much  time  to  mope  ;  that  was  the  day 
for  her  great" week's  mending.  When  John  was  gone  and  her 
morning  affairs  were  out  of  the  way,  Ellen  brought  out  her  work- 
basket,  and  established  herself  on  the  sofa  for  a  quiet  day's  sewing 
without  the  least  fear  of  interruption.  But  sewing  did  not  always 
hinder  thinking.  And  then  certainly  the  room  did  seem  very 
empty  and  very  still ;  and  the  clock,  which  she  never  heard  the  rest 
of  the  week,  kept  ticking  an  ungracious  reminder  that  she  was 
alone.  Ellen  would  sometimes  forget  it  in  the  intense  interest 
of  some  nice  little  piece  of  repair  which  must  be  exquisitely  done 
in  a  wristband  or  a  glove ;  and  then  perhaps  Margery  would  softly 
open  the  door  and  come  in. 

"  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  you're  lonesome  enough ;  isn't  there  some 
thing  I  can  do  for  you  ?  I  can't  rest  for  thinking  of  your  being 
here  all  by  yourself." 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  Margery,"  said  Ellen  smiling, — "  I  am  doing 
very  well.  I  am  living  in  hopes  of  Monday.  Come  and  look  here, 
Margery, — how  will  that  do? — don't  you  think  I  am  learning  to 
mend  ?" 

"It's  beautiful,  Miss  Ellen!  I  can't  make  out  how  you've 
learned  so  quick.  I'll  tell  Mr.  John  some  time  who  does  these 
things  for  him." 

"  No,  indeed,  Margery  !  don't  you.  Please  not,  Margery.  I  like 
to  do  it  very  much  indeed,  but  I  don't  want  he  should  know  it,  nor 
Mr.  Humphreys.  Now  you  won't,  Margery,  will  you?" 

"  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  I  wouldn't  do  the  least  little  thing  as  would 
be  worrisome  to  you  for  the  whole  world.  Aren't  you  tired  sitting 
here  all  alone?" 

"Oh,  sometimes,  a  little,"  said  Ellen  sighing.  "I  can't  help 
that,  you  know." 

"I  feel  it  even  out  there  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Margery; — "I 
feel  it  lonesome  hearing  the  house  so  still ;  I  miss  the  want  of  Mr. 
John's  step  up  and  down  the  room.  How  fond  he  is  of  walking  so, 
to  be  sure !  How  do  you  manage,  Miss  Ellen,  with  him  making 
his  study  here?  don't  you  have  to  keep  uncommon  quiet  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  no  quieter  than  I  like.  I  do  just  as  I  have 
a  mind  to." 

"I  thought,  to  be  sure,"  said  Margery,  "  he  would  have  taken 
up  stairs  for  his  study,  or  the  next  room,  one  or  t'other;  he  used 
to  be  mighty  particular  in. old  times;  he  didn't  like  to  have  any 
body  round  when  he  was  busy ;  but  I  am  glad  he  is  altered  how 
ever  ;  it  is  better  for  you,  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  though  I  didn't  know 
how  you  was  ever  going  to  make  out  at  first." 


466  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  thought  for  a  minute,  when  Margery  was  gone,  whether  it 
could  be  that  John  was  putting  a  force  upon  his  liking  for  her  sake, 
bearing  her  presence  when  he  would  rather  have  been  without  it. 
But  she  thought  of  it  only  a  minute  ;  she  was  sure,  when  she  recol 
lected  herself,  that  however  it  happened,  she  was  no  hinderance  to 
him  in  any  kind  of  work ;  that  she  went  out  and  came  in,  and  as 
he  had  said,  he  saw  and  heard  her  without  any  disturbance.  Be 
sides  he  had  said  so ;  and  that  was  enough. 

Saturday. evening  she  generally  contrived  to  busy  herself  in  her 
books.  But  when  Sunday  morning  came  with  its  calmness  and 
brightness  ;  when  the  business  of  the  week  was  put  away,  and 
quietness  abroad  and  at  home  invited  to  recollection,  then  Ellen's 
thoughts  went  back  to  old  times,  and  then  she  missed  the  calm  sweet 
face  that  had  agreed  so  well  with  the  day.  She  missed  her  in  the 
morning,  when  the  early  sun  streamed  in  through  the  empty  room. 
She  missed  her  at  the  breakfast-table,  where  John  was  not  to  take 
her  place.  On  the  ride  to  church,  where  Mr.  Humphreys  was  now 
her  silent  companion,  and  every  tree  in  the  road  and  every  opening 
in  the  landscape  seemed  to  call  for  Alice  to  see  it  with  her.  Very 
much  she  missed  her  in  church.  The  empty  seat  beside  her, — the 
unused  hymn-book  on  the  shelf, — the  want  of  her  sweet  voice  in 
the  singing, — oh,  how  it  went  to  Ellen's  heart.  And  Mr.  Hum 
phreys'  grave  steadfast  look  and  tone  kept  it  in  her  mind ;  she  saw 
it  was  in  his.  Those  Sunday  mornings  tried  Ellen.  At  first  they 
were  bitterly  sad  ;  her  tears  used  to  flow  abundantly  whenever  they 
could  unseen.  Time  softened  this  feeling. 

While  Mr.  Humphreys  went  on  to  his  second  service  in  the  vil 
lage  beyond,  Ellen  stayed  at  Carra-carra  and  tried  to  teach  a  Sun 
day  school.  She  determined  as  far  as  she  could  to  supply  beyond 
the  home  circle  the  loss  that  was  not  felt  only  there.  She  was  able 
however  to  gather  together  but  her  own  four  children  whom  she 
had  constantly  taught  from  the  beginning,  and  two  others.  The 
rest  were  scattered.  After  her  lunch,  which  having  no  companion 
but  Margery  was  now  a  short  one,  Ellen  went  next  to  the  two  old 
women  that  Alice  had  been  accustomed  to  attend  for  the  purpose 
of  reading,  and  what  Ellen  called  preaching.  These  poor  old  peo 
pie  had  sadly  lamented  the  loss  of  the  faithful  friend  whose  place 
they  never  expected  to  see  supplied  in  this  world,  and  whose  kind 
ness  had  constantly  sweetened  their  lives  with  one  great  pleasure  a 
week.  Ellen  felt  afraid  to  take  so  much  upon  herself,  as  to  try 
to  do  for  them  what  Alice  had  done ;  however  she  resolved ;  and 
at  the  very  first  attempt  their  gratitude  and  joy  far  overpaid  her 
for  the  effort  she  had  made.  Practice  and  the  motive  she  had,  soon 
enabled  Ellen  to  remember  and  repeat  faithfully  the  greater  part 
of  Mr.  Humphreys'  morning  sermon.  Reading  the  Bible  to  Mrs. 
Blockson  was  easy  ;  she  had  often  done  that ;  and  to  repair  the  loss 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


467 


of  Alice's  pleasant  comments  and  explanations  she  bethought  her 
of  her  Pilgrim's  Progress.  To  her  delight  the  old  woman  heard 
it  greedily,  and  seemed  to  take  great  comfort  in  it ;  often  referring 
to  what  Ellen  had  read  before  and  begging  to  hear  such  a  piece 
over  again.  Ellen  generally  went  home  pretty  thoroughly  tired, 
yet  feeling  happy ;  the  pleasure  of  doing  good  still  far  overbalanced 
the  pains. 

Sunday  evening  was  another  lonely  time ;  Ellen  spent  it  as  best 
she  could.     Sometimes  with  her  Bible  and  prayer,  and  then  she 


ceased  to  be  lonely ;  sometimes  with  so  many  pleasant  thoughts 
that  had  sprung  up  out  of  the  employments  of  the  morning  that 
she  could  not  be  sorrowful ;  sometimes  she  could  not  help  being 
both.  In  any  case,  she  was  very  apt  when  the  darkness  fell  to 
take  to  singing  hymns ;  and  it  grew  to  be  a  habit  with  Mr.  Hum 
phreys  when  he  heard  her  to  come  out  of  his  study  and  lie  down 
upon  the  sofa  and  listen,  suffering  no  light  in  the  room  but  that  of 
the  fire.  Ellen  never  was  better  pleased  than  when  her  Sunday 


468  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

evenings  were  spent  so.  She  sung  with  wonderful  pleasure  when 
she  sung  for  him ;  and  she  made  it  her  business  to  fill  her  memory 
with  all  the  beautiful  hymns  she  ever  knew  or  could  find,  or  that 
he  liked  particularly. 

With  the  first  opening  of  her  eyes  on  Monday  morning  came 
the  thought,  "  John  will  be  at  home  to-day  !"  That  was  enough 
to  carry  Ellen  pleasantly  through  whatever  the  day  might  bring. 
She  generally  kept  her  mending  of  stockings  for  Monday  morning, 
because  with  that  thought  in  her  head  she  did  not  mind  any  thing. 
She  had  no  visits  from  Margery  on  Monday  ;  but  Ellen  sang  over 
her  work,  sprang  about  with  happy  energy,  and  studied  her  hardest ; 
for  John  in  what  he  expected  her  to  do  made  no  calculations  for 
work  of  which  he  knew  nothing.  He  was  never  at  home  till  late 
in  the  day ;  and  when  Ellen  had  done  all  she  had  to  do,  and  set  the 
supper-table  with  punctilious  care,  and  a  face  of  busy  happiness  it 
would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  see  if  there  had  been  any  one  to 
look  at  it,  she  would  take  what  happened  to  be  the  favourite  book 
and  plant  herself  near  the  glass  door ;  like  a  very  epicure,  to  enjoy 
both  the  present  and  the  future  at  once.  Even  then  the  present 
often  made  her  forget  the  future ;  she  would  be  lost  in  her  book, 
perhaps  hunting  the  elephant  in  India  or  fighting  Nelson's  battles 
over  again,  and  the  first  news  she  would  have  of  what  she  had  set 
herself  there  to  watch  for  would  be  the  click  of  the  door-lock  or  a 
tap  on  the  glass,  for  the  horse  was  almost  always  left  at  the  further 
door.  Back  then  she  came,  from  India  or  the  Nile ;  down  went 
the  book ;  Ellen  had  no  more  thought  but  for  what  was  before  her. 

For  the  rest  of  that  evening  the  measure  of  Ellen's  happiness 
was  full.  It  did  not  matter  whether  John  were  in  a  talkative  or  a 
thoughtful  mood;  whether  he  spoke  to  her  and  looked  at  her  or 
not ;  it  was  pleasure  enough  to  feel  that  he  was  there.  She  was 
perfectly  satisfied  merely  to  sit  down  near  him,  though  she  did  not 
get  a  word  by  the  hour  together. 


CHAPTER   XLV. 


Ne  in  all  the  welkin  was  no  cloud. 

CHAUCER. 


ONE  Monday  evening,  John  being  tired,  was  resting  in^  the 
corner  of  the  sofa.  The  silence  had  lasted  a  long  time.  Ellen 
thought  so,  and  standing  near,  she  by  and  by  put  her  hand  gently 
into  one  of  his  which  he  was  thoughtfully  passing  through  the 
locks  of  his  hair.  Her  hand  was  clasped  immediately,  and  quit- 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  469 

ting  his  abstracted  look  he  asked  what  she  had  been  doing  that 
day  ?  Ellen's  thoughts  went  back  to  toes  of  stockings  and  a  long 
rent  in  her  dress ;  she  merely  answered,  smiling,  that  she  had  been 
busy. 

"  Too  busy,  I'm  afraid.  Come  round  here  and  sit  down.  What 
have  you  been  busy  about?" 

Ellen  never  thought  of  trying  to  evade  a  question  of  his.  She 
coloured  and  hesitated.  He  did  not  press  it  any  further. 

"  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen,  when  the  silence  seemed  to  have  set  in 
again, — "  there  is  something  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you  this 
great  while," — 

"  Why  hasn't  it  been  asked  this  great  while  ?"  , 

"  I  didn't  quite  like  to  ; — I  didn't  know  what  you  would  say  to  it." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  at  all  terrible  to  you,  Ellie." 

"  Why  you  are  not!"  said  Ellen,  laughing, — "how  you  talk! 
but  I  don't  much  like  to  ask  people  things." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  he  smiling; — "my  memory 
rather  seems  to  say  that  you  ask  things  pretty  often." 

11  Ah,  yes, — those  things, — but  I  mean  —  I  don't  like  to  ask 
things  when  I  am  not  quite  sure  how  people  will  like  it." 

"  You  are  right,  certainly,  to  hesitate  when  you  are  doubtful  in 
such  a  matter ;  but  it  is  best  not  to  be  doubtful  when  I  am  con 
cerned." 

"Well,"  said  Ellen, — "I  wished  very  much — I  was  going  to 
ask — if  you  would  have  any  objection  to  let  me  read  one  of  your 
sermons." 

"  None  in  the  world,  Ellie,"  said  he,  smiling, — "but  they  have 
never  been  written  yet." 

"  Not  written  !" 

"  No — there  is  all  I  had  to  guide  me  yesterday." 

"  A  half  sheet  of  paper  ! — and  only  written  on  one  side  ! — Oh, 
I  can  make  nothing  of  this.  What  is  this? — Hebrew?" 

"  Shorthand." 

"  And  is  that  all !  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Ellen,  sighing 
as  she  gave  back  the  paper. 

"  What  if  you  were  to  go  with  me  next  time  ?  They  want  to 
see  you  very  much  at  Ventnor." 

"  So  do  I  want  to  see  them,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  very  much  indeed." 

"  Mrs.  Marshman  sent  a  most  earnest  request  by  me  that  you 
would  come  to  her  the  next  time  I  go  to  Randolph." 

Ellen  gave  the  matter  a  very  serious  consideration  ;  if  one  might 
judge  by  her  face. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it?" 

"  I  should  like  to  go — very  much,"  said  Ellen,  slowly, — 
"  but " 

"  But  you  do  not  think  it  would  be  pleasant  ?" 


470  THE  WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"No,  no,"  said  Ellen  laughing, — "I  don't  mean  that;  but  I 
think  I  would  rather  not." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh, — I  have  some  reasons." 

"  You  must  give  me  very  good  ones,  or  I  think  I  shall  overrule 
your  decision,  Ellie." 

"  I  have  very  good  ones, — plenty  of  them, — only " 

A  glance,  solnewhat  comical  in  its  keenness,  overturned  Ellen's 
hesitation. 

"  I  have  indeed,"  said  she,  laughing, — "  only  I  did  not  want  to 
tell  you.  The  reason  why  I  didn't  wish  to  go  was  because  I 
thought  I  should  be  missed.  You  don't  know  how  much  I  miss 
you,"  said  she  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"  That  is  what  I  was  afraid  of!  Your  reasons  make  against 
you,  Ellie." 

"  I  hope  not; — I  don't  think  they  oug;ht." 

"  But  Ellie,  I  am  very  sure  my  father  would  rather  miss  you 
once  or  twice  than  have  you  want  what  would  be  good  for  you." 

"  I  know  that !  I  am  sure  of  that ;  but  that  don't  alter  my  feel 
ing,  you  know.  And  besides — that  isn't  all.'1 

"  Who  else  will  miss  you?" 

Ellen's  quick  look  seemed  to  say  that  he  knew  too  much  already, 
and  that  she  did  not  wish  him  to  know  more.  He  did  not  repeat 
the  question,  but  Ellen  felt  that  her  secret  was  no  longer  entirely 
her  own. 

"  And  what  do  you  do,  Ellie,  when  you  feel  lonely?"  he  went 
on  presently. 

Ellen's  eyes  watered  at  the  tone  in  which  these  words  were 
spoken  ;  she  answered,  u  Different  things." 

"  The  best  remedy  for  it  is  prayer.  In  seeking  the  face  of  our 
best  friend  we  forget  the  loss  of  others.  That  is  what  I  try, 
Ellie,  when  I  feel  alone; — do  you  try  it?"  said  he,  softly. 

Ellen  looked  up  ;  she  could  not  well  speak  at  that  moment. 

"  There  is  an  antidote  in  that  for  every  trouble.  You  know  who 
said,  '  he  that  cometh  to  me  shall  never  hunger,  and  he  that  be 
lie  veth  on  me  shall  never  thirst.'  " 

"  It  troubles  me,"  said  he  after  a  pause, — "  to  leave  you  so  much 
alone.  I  don't  know  that  it  were  not  best  to  take  you  with  me 
every  week." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  said  Ellen, — "  don't  think  of  me.  I  don't  mind  it 
indeed.  I  do  not  always  feel  so — sometimes, — but  I  get  along 
very  well ;  and  I  would  rather  stay  here,  indeed  I  would.  I  am 
always  happy  as  soon  as  Monday  morning  comes." 

He  rose  up  suddenly  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 

"  Mr.  John"— 

"  What,  Ellie  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  471 

"  I  do  sometimes  seek  His  face  very  much  when  I  cannot  find  it." 

She  hid  her  face  in  the  sofa-cushion.  He  was  silent  a  few  min 
utes,  and  then  stopped  his  walk. 

"There  is  something  wrong  then  with  you,  Ellie,"  he  said 
gently.  "  How  has  it  been  through  the  week  ?  If  you  can  let 
day  after  day  pass  without  remembering  your  best  friend,  it  may 
be  that  when  you  feel  the  want  you  will  not  readily  find  him. 
How  is  it  daily,  Ellie  ?  is  seeking  his  face  your  first  concern  ?  do 
you  give  a  sufficient  time  faithfully  to  your  Bible  and  prayer?" 

Ellen  shook  her  head  ;  no  words  were  possible.  He  took  up  his 
walk  again.  The  silence  had  lasted  a  length  of  time  and  he  was 
still  walking,  when  Ellen  came  to  his  side  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm. 

"  Have  you  settled  that  question  with  your  conscience,  Ellie  ?" 

She  weepingly  answered  yes.  They  walked  a  few  turns  up  and 
down. 

"  Will  you  promise  me,  Ellie,  that  every  day  when  it  shall  be 
possible,  you  will  give  an  hour  at  least  to  this  business  ? — whatever 
else  may  be  done  or  undone  ?" 

Ellen  promised ;  and  then  with  her  hand  in  his  they  continued 
their  walk  through  the  room  till  Mr.  Humphreys  and  the  servants 
came  in.  Her  brother's  prayer  that  night  Ellen  never  forgot. 

No  more  was  said  at  that  time  about  her  going  to  Yentnor. 
But  a  week  or  two  after,  John  smilingly  told  her  to  get  all  her 
private  affairs  arranged  and  to  let  her  friends  know  they  need  not 
expect  to  see  her  the  next  Sunday,  for  that  he  was  going  to  take 
her  with  him.  As  she  saw  he  had  made  up  his  mind,  Ellen  said 
nothing  in  the  way  of  objecting;  and  now  that  the  decision  was 
taken  from  her  was  really  very  glad  to  go.  She  arranged  every 
thing,  as  he  had  said ;  and  was  ready  Saturday  morning  to  set  off 
with  a  very  light  heart. 

They  went  in  the  sleigh.  In  a  happy  quiet  mood  of  mind, 
Ellen  enjoyed  every  thing  exceedingly.  She  had  not  been  to 
Ventnor  in  several  months  ;  the  change  of  scene  was  very  grateful. 
She  could  not  help  thinking,  as  they  slid  along  smoothly  and 
swiftly  over  the  hard-frozen  snow,  that  it  was  a  good  deal  pleas- 
anter,  for  once,  than  sitting  alone  in  the  parlour  at  home  with  her 
work-basket.  Those  days  of  solitary  duty,  however,  had  prepared 
her  for  the  pleasure  of  this  one  ;  Ellen  knew  that,  and  was  ready 
to  be  thankful  for  every  thing.  Throughout  the  whole  way, 
whether  the  eye  and  mind  silently  indulged  in  roving,  or  still  bet 
ter  loved  talk  interrupted  that,  as  it  often  did,  Ellen  was  in  a  state 
of  most  unmixed  and  unruffled  satisfaction.  John  had  not  the 
slightest  reason  to  doubt  the  correctness  of  his  judgment  in  bring 
ing  her.  He  went  in  but  a  moment  at  Ventnor,  and  leaving  her 
there,  proceeded  himself  to  Randolph. 


472  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  was  received  as  a  precious  lending  that  must  be  taken  the 
greatest  care  of  and  enjoyed  as  much  as  possible  while  one  has  it. 
Mrs.  Marshman  and  Mrs.  Chauncey  treated  her  as  if  she  had  been 
their  own  child.  Ellen  Chauncey  overwhelmed  her  with  joyful 
caresses,  and  could  scarcely  let  her  out  of  her  arms  by  night  or  by 
day.  She  was  more  than  ever  Mr.  Marshman' s  pet ;  but  indeed 
she  was  well  petted  by  all  the  family.  It  was  a  very  happy  visit. 

Even  Sunday  left  nothing  to  wish  for.  To  her  great  joy  not 
only  Mrs.  Chauncey  went  with  her  in  the  morning  to  hear  her 
brother  (for  his  church  was  not  the  one  the  family  attended),  but 
the  carriage  was  ordered  in  the  afternoon  also  ;  and  Mrs.  Chauncey 
and  her  daughter  and  Miss  Sophia  went  with  her  again.  When  they 
returned,  Miss  Sophia,  who  had  taken  a  very  great  fancy  to  her, 
brought  her  into  her  own  room  and  made  her  lie  down  with  her 
upon  the  bed,  though  Ellen  insisted  she  was  not  tired. 

"  Well  you  ought  to  be,  if  you  are  not,"  said  the  lady.  "/  am. 
Keep  away,  Ellen  Chauncey — you  can't  be  any  where  without 
talking.  You  can  live  without  Ellen  for  half  an  hour,  can't  ye? 
Leave  us  a  little  while  in  quiet.  ' 

Ellen  for  her  part  was  quite  willing  to  be  quiet.  But  Miss 
Sophia  was  not  sleepy,  and  it  soon  appeared  had  no  intention  of 
being  silent  herself. 

11  Well  how  do  you  like  your  brother  in  the  pulpit?"  she  began. 

"I  like  him  anywhere,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  smiling  a  very  un 
equivocal  smile. 

"  I  thought  he  would  have  come  here  with  you  last  night; — it  is 
very  mean  of  him  !  He  never  comes  near  us ;  he  always  goes  to 
some  wretched  little  lodging  or  place  in  the  town  there  ; — always  ; 
never  so  much  as  looks  at  Ventnor  unless  sometimes  he  may  stop 
for  a  minute  at  the  door." 

11  He  said  he  would  come  here  to-night,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Amazing  condescending  of  him  !  However,  he  isn't  like  any 
body  else ;  I  suppose  we  must  not  judge  him  by  common  rules. 
How  is  Mr.  Humphreys,  Ellen  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen, — "it  is  hard  to  tell;  he 
doesn't  say  much.  I  think  he  is  rather  more  cheerful — if  any 
thing — than  I  expected  he  would  be." 

"And  how  do  you  get  along  there,  poor  child!  with  only  two 
such  grave  people  about  you?" 

"I  get  along  very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  with  what  Miss 
Sophia  thought  a  somewhat  curious  smile. 

"  I  believe  you  will  grow  to  be  as  sober  as  tne  rest  of  them," 
said  she.  "  How  does  Mr.  John  behave?" 

Ellen  turned  so  indubitably  curious  a  look  upon  her  at  this  that 
Miss  Sophia  half  laughed  and  went  on. 

"  Mr.  Humphreys  was  not  always  as  silent  and  reserved  as  he  is 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  473 

now ;  I  remember  him  when  he  was  different ; — though  I  don't 
think  he  ever  was  much  like  his  son.  Did  you  ever  hear  about 
it?" 

"  About  what,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Oh,  all  about  his  coming  to  this  country,  and  what  brought 
him  to  Carra-carra  ?' ' 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  My  father,  you  see,  had  come  out  long  before,  out  the  two 
families  had  been  always  very  intimate  in  England,  and  it  was  kept 
up  after  he  came  away.  He  was  a  particular  friend  of  an  elder 
brother  of  Mr.  Humphreys;  his  estate  and  my  grandfather's  lay 
very  near  each  other ;  and  besides,  there  were  other  things  that 
drew  them  to  each  other; — he  married  my  aunt,  for  one.  My 
father  made  several  journeys  back  and  forth  in  the  course  of  years, 
and  so  kept  up  his  attachment  to  the  whole  family,  you  know ;  and 
he  became  very  desirous  to  get  Mr.  Humphreys  over  here, — this 
Mr.  Humphreys,  you  know.  He  was  the  younger  brother — younger 
brothers  in  England  generally  have  little  or  nothing  ;  but  you  don't 
know  anything  about  that,  Ellen.  He  hadn't  any  thing  then  but 
his  living,  and  that  was  a  small  one ;  he  had  some  property  left 
him  though,  just  before  he  came  to  America." 

"But  Miss  Sophia" — Ellen  hesitated, — "Are  you  sure  they 
would  like  I  should  hear  all  this?" 

"  Why  yes,  child  ! — of  course  they  would  ;  every  body  knows  it. 
Some  things  made  Mr.  Humphreys  as  willing  to  leave  England 
about  that  time  as  my  father  was  to  have  him.  An  excellent 
situation  was  oifered  him  in  one  of  the  best  institutions  here,  and 
he  came  out.  That's  about — let  me  see — I  was  just  twelve  years 
old  and  Alice  was  one  year  younger.  She  and  I  were  just  like 
sisters  always  from  that  time.  We  lived  near  together,  and  saw 
each  other  every  day,  and  our  two  families  were  just  like  one.  But 
they  were  liked  by  every  body.  Mrs.  Humphreys  was  a  very  fine 
person, — very ;  oh,  very  !  I  never  saw  any  woman  I  admired  more. 
Her  death  almost  killed  her  husband ;  and  I  think  Alice — I  don't 
know ! — there  isn't  the  least  sign  of  delicate  health  about  Mr. 
Humphreys  nor  Mr.  John, — not  the  slightest, — nor  about  Mrs. 
Humphreys  either.  She  was  a  very  fine  woman  !" 

"  How  long  ago  did  she  die  ?"   said  Ellen. 

11  Five, — six,  seven, — seven  years  ago.  Mr.  John  had  been  left 
in  England  till  a  little  before.  Mr.  Humphreys  was  never  the 
same  after  that.  He  wouldn't  hold  his  professorship  any  longer  ; 
he  couldn't  bear  society;  he  just  went  and  buried  himself  at 
Carra-carra.  That  was  a  little  after  we  came  here." 

How  much  all  this  interested  Ellen  !  She  was  glad  however 
when  Miss  Sophia  seemed  to  have  talked  herself  out,  for  she 
wanted  very  much  to  think  over  John's  sermon.  And  as  Miss 

40* 


474  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Sophia  happily  fell  into  a  doze  soon  after,  she  had  a  long  quiet 
time  for  it,  till  it  grew  dark,  and  Ellen  Chauncey  whose  impatience 
could  hold  no  longer  came  to  seek  her. 

John  came  in  the  evening.  Ellen's  patience  and  politeness  were 
severely  tried  in  the  course  of  it;  for  while  she  longed  exceed 
ingly  to  hear  what  her  brother  and  the  older  members  of  the  fam 
ily  were  talking  about, — animated,  delightful  conversation  she  was 
sure, — Ellen  Chauncey  detained  her  in  another  part  of  the  room  ; 
and  for  a  good  part  of  the  evening  she  had  to  bridle  her  impatience, 
and  attend  to  what  she  did  not  care  about.  She  did  it,  and  Ellen 
Chauncey  did  not  suspect  it ;  and  at  last  she  found  means  to  draw 
both  her  and  herself  near  the  larger  group.  But  they  seemed  to 
have  got  through  what  they  were  talking  about ;  there  was  a  lull. 
Ellen  waited ;  and  hoped  they  would  begin  again. 

"You  had  a  full  church  this  afternoon,  Mr.  John,"  said  Miss 
Sophia. 

He  bowed  gravely. 

"  Did  you  know  whom  you  had  among  your  auditors  ?  the 

and were  there  ;' '  naming  some  distinguished  strangers  in  the 

neighbourhood. 

•'I  think  I  saw  them." 

"  You  '  think'  you  did  !  Is  that  an  excess  of  pride  or  an  excess 
of  modesty  ?  Now  do  be  a  reasonable  creature,  and  confess  that 
you  are  not  insensible  to  the  pleasure  and  honour  of  addressing 
such  an  audience  !" 

Ellen  saw  something  like  a  flash  of  contempt,  for  an  instant  in 
his  face,  instantly  succeeded  by  a  smile. 

"  Honestly,  Miss  Sophia,  I  was  much  more  interested  in  an  old 
woman  that  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs." 

"  That  old  thing  !"  said  Miss  Sophia. 

"I  saw  her,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey; — "poor  old  creature!  she 
seemed  most  deeply  attentive  when  I  looked  at  her." 

"  /saw  her  !"  cried  Ellen  Chauncey, — "  and  the  tears  were  run 
ning  down  her  cheeks  several  times." 

"  I  didn't  see  her,"  said  Ellen  Montgomery,  as  John's  eye  met 
hers.  He  smiled. 

"  But  do  you  mean  to  say,"  continued  Miss  Sophia,  "  that  you 
are  absolutely  careless  as  to  who  hears  you  ?' ' 

"  I  have  always  one  hearer,  Miss  Sophia,  of  so  much  dignity, 
that  it  sinks  the  rest  into  great  insignificance." 

"That  is  a  rebuke,"  said  Miss  Sophia; — "but  nevertheless  I 
shall  tell  you  that  I  liked  you  very  much  this  afternoon." 

He  was  silent. 

"I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  next,"  said  the  young  lady  laugh 
ing,  "  that  you  are  sorry  to  hear  me  say  so." 

"  I  am,"  said  he  gravely. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  475 

"  Why  ?— may  I  ask  ?" 

"  You  show  me  that  I  have  quite  failed  in  my  aim,  so  far  at 
least  as  one  of  my  heare/s  was  concerned." 

"  How  do  you  know  that?" 

"  Do  you  remember  what  Louis  the  Fourteenth  said  to  Massil- 
lon? — Mon  pere,  j'ai  entendu  plusieurs  grands  orateurs  dans  ma 
chapelle ;  j'en  ai  ete"  fort  content;  pour  vous,  toutes  les  fois  que 
je  vous  ai  entendu,  j'ai  4te  tres  me'content  de  moi-meme !" 

Ellen  smiled.     Miss  Sophia  was  silent  for  an  instant. 

"  Then  you  really  mean  to  be  understood,  that  provided  you  fail 
of  your  aim,  as  you  say,  you  do  not  care  a  straw  what  people 
think  of  you?" 

"  As  I  would  take  a  bankrupt's  promissory  note  in  lieu  of  told 
gold.  It  gives  me  small  gratification,  Miss  Sophia — very  small 
indeed, — to  see  the  bowing  head  of  the  grain  that  yet  my  sickle 
cannot  reach." 

"I  agree  with  you  most  heartily,"  said  Mr.  George  Marshman. 
The  conversation  dropped  ;  and  the  two  gentlemen  began  another 
in  an  under  tone,  pacing  up  and  down  the  floor  together. 

The  next  morning,  not  sorrowfully,  Ellen  entered  the  sleigh 
again  and  they  set  off  homewards. 

"  What  a  sober  little  piece  that  is,"  said  Mr.  Howard. 

"Oh! — sober!"  cried  Ellen  Chauncey; — "  that  is  because  you 
don't  know  her,  uncle  Howard.  She  is  the  cheerfullest,  happiest 
girl  that  I  ever  saw, — always." 

"  Except  Ellen  Chauncey, — always,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  She  is  a  singular  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie.  "  She  is  grave 
certainly,  but  she  don't  look  moped  at  all,  and  I  should  think  she 
would  be,  to  death." 

"  There's  not  a  bit  of  moping  about  her,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 
"She  can  laugh  and  smile  as  well  as  any  body;  though  she  has 
sometimes  that  peculiar  grave  look  of  the  eyes  that  would  make  a 
stranger  doubt  it.  I  think  John  Humphreys  has  infected  her ; 
he  has  something  of  the  same  look  himself." 

11 1  am  not  sure  whether  it  is  the  eyes  or  the  mouth,  Sophia," 
said  Mr.  Howard. 

"It  is  both,"  said  Miss  Sophia.  "  Did  you  ever  see  the  eyes 
look  one  way  and  the  mouth  another?" 

"And  besides,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey,  "she  has  reason  to  look 
sober,  I  am  sure." 

"She  is  a  fascinating  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie.  "I  cannot 
comprehend  where  she  gets  the  manner  she  has.  I  never  saw  a 
more  perfectly  polite  child ;  and  there  she  has  been  for  months 
with  nobody  to  speak  to  her  but  two  gentlemen  and  the  servants. 
It  is  natural  to  her,  I  suppose  ;  she  can  have  nobody  to  teach 
her." 


476  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  as  to  that/'  said  Miss  Sophia ;  "  but  I  have 
noticed  the  same  thing  often.  Did  you  observe  her  last  night, 
Matilda,  when  John  Humphreys  came  in  ?  you  were  talking  to  her 
at  the  moment ; — I  saw  her,  before  the  door  was  opened, — I  saw 
the  colour  come  and  her  eye  sparkle,  but  she  did  not  look  toward 
him  for  an  instant  till  you  had  finished  what  you  were  saying  to 
her  and  she  had  given,  as  she  always  does,  her  modest  quiet 
answer ;  and  then  her  eye  went  straight  as  an  arrow  to  where  he 
was  standing." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  "  she  never  moved  toward  him 
when  you  did,  but  stayed  quietly  on  that  side  of  the  room  with 
the  young  ones  till  he  came  round  to  them,  and  it  was  some  time 
too." 

"  She  is  an  odd  child,"  said  Miss  Sophia,  laughing, — "  what  do 
you  think  she  said  to  me  yesterday  ?  I  was  talking  to  her  and 
getting  rather  communicative  on  the  subject  of  my  neighbours' 
affairs ;  and  she  asked  me  gravely, — the  little  monkey  ! — if  I  was 
sure  they  would  like  her  to  hear  it  ?  I  felt  quite  rebuked ;  though 
I  didn't  choose  to  let  her  know  as  much." 

"  I  wish  Mr.  John  would  bring  her  every  week,"  said  Ellen 
Chauncey  sighing;  ';  it  would  be  so  pleasant  to  have  her." 

Toward  the  end  of  the  winter  Mr.  Humphreys  began  to  propose 
that  his  son  should  visit  England  and  Scotland  during  the  following 
summer.  He  wished  him  to  see  his  family  and  to  know  his  native 
country,  as  well  as  some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  and  in 
stitutions  in  both  kingdoms.  Mr.  George  Marshman  also  urged 
upon  him  some  business  in  which  he  thought  he  could  be  emi 
nently  useful.  But  Mr.  John  declined  both  propositions,  still 
thinking  he  had  more  important  duties  at  home.  This  only  cloud 
that  rose  above  Ellen's  horizon,  scattered  away. 

One  evening,  it  was  a  Monday,  in  the  twilight,  John  was  as 
usual  pacing  up  and  down  the  floor.  Ellen  was  reading  in  the 
window. 

"  Too  late  for  you,  Ellie." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  know — I  will  stop  in  two  minutes" — 

But  in  a  quarter  of  that  time  she  had  lost  every  thought  of 
stopping,  and  knew  no  longer  that  it  was  growing  dusk.  Some 
body  else,  however,  had  not  forgotten  it.  The  two  minutes  were 
not  ended,  when  a  hand  came  between  her  and  the  page  and 
quietly  drew  the  book  away. 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon  !"  cried  Ellen  starting  up.  "  I  entirely 
forgot  all  about  it  I" 

He  did  not  look  displeased  ;  he  was  smiling.  He  drew  her  arm 
within  his. 

"  Come  and  walk  with  me.  Have  you  had  any  exercise  to 
day?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  477 

"No." 

«  Why  not  ?" 

"  I  had  a  good  deal  to  do,  and  I  had  fixed  myself  so  nicely  on 
the  sofa  with  my  books ;  and  it  looked  cold  and  disagreeable  out 
of  doors." 

"  Since  when  have  you  ceased  to  be  a  fixture  ?" 

1  'What! — Oh,"  said  Ellen  laughing, — "  how  shall  I  ever  get 
rid  of  that  troublesome  word  ?  What  shall  I  say  ? — I  had 
arranged  myself,  established  myself,  so  nicely  on  the  sofa." 

"  And  did  you  think  that  a  sufficient  reason  for  not  going 
out?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  "I  did  not;  and  I  did  not  decide  that  I 
would  not  go  ;  and  yet  I  let  it  keep  me  at  home  after  all ; — just  as 
I  did  about  reading  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  meant  to  stop,  but  I 
forgot  it,  and  I  should  have  gone  on  I  don't  know  how  long  if  you 
had  not  stopped  me.  I  very  often  do  so." 

He  paused  a  minute,  and  then  said, 

"  You  must  not  do  so  any  more,  Ellie." 

The  tone,  in  which  there  was  a  great  deal  both  of  love  and  de 
cision,  wound  round  Ellen's  heart,  and  constrained  her  to  answer 
immediately, 

"  I  will  riot— I  will  not." 

"Never  parley  with  conscience; — it  is  a  dangerous  habit." 

"  But  then — it  was  only " 

"  About  trifles ;  I  grant  you  ;  but  the  habit  is  no  trifle.  There 
will  not  be  a  just  firmness  of  mind  and  steadfastness  of  action, 
where  tampering  with  duty  is  permitted  even  in  little  things." 

"  I  will  try  not  to  do  it,"  Ellen  repeated. 

"  No,"  said  he  smiling, — "let  it  stand  as  at  first.  'J 'will  not' 
means  something  ;  ' 1 will  tryj  is  very  apt  to  come  to  nothing.  *  I 
will  keep  thy  precepts  with  my  whole  heart !' — not  '  I  will  try' 
Your  reliance  is  precisely  the  same  in  either  case." 

"  I  will  not,  John,"  said  Ellen  smiling. 

"What  were  you  poring  over  so  intently  a  while  ago?" 

"  It  was  an  old  magazine — Blackwood's  Magazine,  I  believe,  is 
the  name  of  it — I  found  two  great  piles  of  them  in  a  closet  up 
stairs  the  other  day ;  and  I  brought  this  one  down." 

"  This  is  the  first  that  you  have  read  ?" 

"  Yes — I  got  very  much  interested  in  a  curious  story  there  ; — 
why?" 

"  What  will  you  say,  Ellie,  if  I  ask  you  to  leave  the  rest  of  the 
two  piles  unopened  ?" 

"  Why,  I  will  say  that  I  will  do  it,  of  course,"  said  Ellen, 
with  a  little  smothered  sigh  of  regret  however; — "if  you  wish 
it. 

"I  do  wish  it,  Ellie." 


478  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Very  well — I'll  let  them  alone  then.  I  have  enough  other 
reading ;  I  don't  know  how  I  happened  to  take  that  one  up  j  be 
cause  I  saw  it  there,  I  suppose." 

"  Have  you  finished  Nelson  yet?" 

"Oh,  yes! — I  finished  it  Saturday  night.  Oh,  I  like  it  very 
much  !  I  am  going  all  over  it  again  though.  I  like  Nelson  very 
much ;  don't  you?" 

«  Yes — as  well  as  I  can  like  a  man  of  very  fine  qualities  without 
principle." 

"Was  he  that?"  said  Ellen. 

"Yes;  did  you  not  find  it  out?  I  am  afraid  your  eyes  were 
blinded  by  admiration." 

"  Were  they  !"  said  Ellen.  "I  thought  he  was  so  very  fine,  in 
every  thing ;  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  he  was  not." 

"  Look  over  the  book  again  by  all  means,  with  a  more  critical 
eye  ;  and  when  you  have  done  so  you  shall  give  me  your  cool  esti 
mate  of  his  character." 

"  Oh,  me  !"  said  Ellen.  "  Well,— but  I  don't  know  whether  I 
can  give  you  a  cool  estimate  of  him  ; — however  I'll  try.  I  can 
not  think  coolly  of  him  now,  just  after  Trafalgar.  I  think  it  was 
a  shame  that  Collingwood  did  not  anchor  as  Nelson  told  him  to  ; 
don't  you  ?  I  think  he  might  have  been  obeyed  while  he  was  liv 
ing,  at  least." 

"  It  is  difficult,"  said  John  smiling,  "  to  judge  correctly  of  many 
actions  without  having  been  on  the  spot  and  in  the  circumstances 
of  the  actors.  I  believe  you  and  I  must  leave  the  question  of 
Trafalgar  to  more  nautical  heads." 

"  How  pleasant  this  moonlight  is  !"   said  Ellen. 

"  What  makes  it  pleasant?" 

"  What  makes  it  pleasant! — I-don't  know;  I  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing.  It  is  made  to  be  pleasant. — I  can't  tell  why  ;  can 
any  body?" 

"  The  eye  loves  light  for  many  reasons,  but  all  kinds  of  light  are 
not  equally  agreeable.  What  makes  the  peculiar  charm  of  these 
long  streams  of  pale  light  across  the  floor  ?  and  the  shadowy 
brightness  without  ?" 

"  You  must  tell,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  cannot." 

"  You  know  we  enjoy  any  thing  much  more  by  contrast ;  I  think 
that  is  one  reason.  Night  is  the  reign  of  darkness,  which  we  do 
not  love  ;  and  here  is  light  struggling  with  the  darkness,  not  enough 
to  overcome  it  entirely,  but  yet  banishing  it  to  nooks  and  corners 
and  distant  parts,  by  the  side  of  which  it  shows  itself  in  contrasted 
beauty.  Our  eyes  bless  the  unwonted  victory." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  we  only  have  moonlight  nights  once  in  a 
while." 

"  But  that  is  only  one  reason  out  of  many,  and  not  the  greatest. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  479 

• 

It  is  a  very  refined  pleasure,  and  to  resolve  it  into  its  elements  is 
something  like  trying  to  divide  one  of  these  same  white  rays  of 
light  into  the  many  various  coloured  ones  that  go  to  form  it ; — and 
not  by  any  means  so  easy  a  task." 

"  Then  it  was  no  wonder  I  couldn't  answer,"  said  Ellen. 

"No — you  are  hardly  a  full-grown  philosopher  yet,  Ellie." 

"The  moonlight  is  so  calm  and  quiet,"  Ellen  observed  admir 
ingly. 

"  And  why  is  it  calm  and  quiet  ? — I  must  have  an  answer  to 
that." 

"Because  we  are  generally  calm  and  quiet  at  such  times?" 
Ellen  ventured  after  a  little  thought. 

"Precisely! — we  and  the  world.  And  association  has  given 
the  moon  herself  the  same  character.  Besides  that  her  mild  sober 
light  is  not  fitted  for  the  purposes  of  active  employment,  and  there 
fore  the  more  graciously  invites  us  to  the  pleasures  of  thought  and 
fancy." 

"I  am  loving  it  more  and  more,  the  more  you  talk  about  it," 
said  Ellen  laughing. 

"And  there  you  have  touched  another  reason,  Ellie,  for  the 
pleasure  we  have,  not  only  in  moonlight,  but  in  most  other  things. 
When  two  things  have  been  in  the  mind  together,  and  made  any 
impression,  the  mind  associates  them  ;  and  you  cannot  see  or  think 
of  the  one  without  bringing  back  the  remembrance  or  the  feeling 
of  the  other.  If  we  have  enjoyed  the  moonlight  in  pleasant  scenes, 
in  happy  hours,  with  friends  that  we  loved,— though  the  sight  of 
it  may  not  always  make  us  directly  remember  them,  it  yet  brings 
with  it  a  waft  from  the  feeling  of  the  old  times, — sweet  as  long 
as  life  lasts!" 

"And  sorrowful  things  may  be  associated  too?"  said  Ellen. 

"Yes,  and  sorrowful  things. — But  this  power  of  association  is 
the  cause  of  half  the  pleasure  we  enjoy.  There  is  a  tune  my 
mother  used  to  sing — I  cannot  hear  it  now  without  being  carried 
swiftly  back  to  my  boyish  days, — to  the  very  spirit  of  the  time ;  I 
feel  myself  spring  over  the  greensward  as  I  did  then." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  is  true,"  said  Ellen.  "  The  camellia,  the  white 
camellia  you  know, — I  like  it  so  much  ever  since  what  you  said 
about  it  one  day.  I  never  see  it  without  thinking  of  it ;  and  it 
would, not  seem  half  so  beautiful  but  for  that." 

"  What  did  I  say  about  it?" 

"  Don't  you  remember?  you  said  it  was  like  what  you  ought  to 
be,  and  what  you  should  be  if  you  ever  reached  heaven ;  and  you 
repeated  that  verse  in  the  Revelation  about  '  those  that  have  not 
defiled  their  garments.'  I  always  think  of  it.  It  seems  to  give 
me  a  lesson." 

"  How  eloquent  of  beautiful  lessons  all  nature  would  be  to  us," 


480  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

said  John  musingly,  "  if  we  had  but  the  eye  and  the  ear  to  take 
them  in." 

"  And  in  that  way  you  would  heap  associations  upon  associa 
tions  ?" 

"  Yes;  till  our  storehouse  of  pleasure  was  very  full." 

"  You  do  that  now,"  said  Ellen.    "  I  wish  you  would  teach  me." 

"  I  have  read  precious  things  sometimes  in  the  bunches  of  flowers 
you  are  so  fond  of,  Ellie.  Cannot  you?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  only  think  of  themselves  ;  except — sometimes, 
they  make  me  think  of  Alice." 

"  You  know  from  any  works  we  may  form  some  judgment  of 
the  mind  and  character  of  their  author?" 

"From  their  writings,  I  know  you  can,"  said  Ellen; — "from 
what  other  works  ?" 

"  From  any  which  are  not  mechanical ;  from  any  in  which  the 
mind,  not  the  hand,  has  been  the  creating  power.  I  saw  you  very 
much  interested  the  other  day  in  the  Eddystone  lighthouse  ;  did 
it  help  you  to  form  no  opinion  of  Mr.  Smeaton  ?" 

"  Why  yes,  certainly,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  admired  him  exceedingly 
for  his  cleverness  and  perseverance  ;  but  what  other  works  ? — I 
can't  think  of  any." 

"  There  is  the  lighthouse, — that  is  one  thing.  What  do  you 
think  of  the  ocean  waves  that  now  and  then  overwhelm  it?" 

Ellen  half  shuddered.  "I  shouldn't  like  to  go  to  sea,  John! 
But  you  were  speaking  of  men's  works  and  women's  works?" 

"  Well,  women's  works, — I  cannot  help  forming  some  notion  of 
a  lady's  mind  and  character  from  the  way  she  dresses  herself." 

"  Can  you  !  do  you  !" 

"  I  cannot  help  doing  it.  Many  things  appear  in  the  style  of  a 
lady's  dress  that  she  never  dreams  of; — the  style  of  her  thoughts 
among  others." 

"It  is  a  pity  ladies  didn't  know  that,"  said  Ellen,  laughing; — 
"  they  would  be  very  careful." 

"  It  wouldn't  mend  the  matter,  Ellie.  That  is  one  of  the  things 
in  which  people  are  obliged  to  speak  truth.  As  the  mind  is,  so  it 
will  show  itself." 

"  But  we  have  got  a  great  way  from  the  flowers,"  said  Ellen. 

"You  shall  bring  me  some  to-morrow,  Ellie,  and  we  will  read 
them  together." 

"There  are  plenty  over  there  now,"  said  Ellen,  looking  toward 
the  little  flower-stand,  which  was  as  full  and  as  flourishing  as  ever, 
— "  but  we  can't  see  them  well  by  this  light." 

"A  bunch  of  flowers  seems  to  bring  me  very  near  the  hand  that 
made  them.  They  are  the  work  of  his  fingers ;  and  I  cannot  con 
sider  them  without  being  joyfully  assured  of  the  glory  and  love 
liness  of  their  Creator.  It  is  written  as  plainly  to  me  in  their 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  481 

delicate  painting  and  sweet  breath  and  curious  structure,  as  in  the 
very  pages  of  the  Bible ;  though  no  doubt  without  the  Bible  I 
could  not  read  the  flowers." 

"  I  never  thought  much  of  that,"  said  Ellen.  "  And  then  you 
find  particular  lessons  in  particular  flowers?" 

"  Sometimes." 

"  Oh,  come  here!"  said  Ellen,  pulling  him  toward  the  flower- 
stand, — "  and  tell  me  what  this  daphne  is  like — you  need  not  see 
that,  only  smell  it,  that's  enough  ; — do  John,  and  tell  me  what  it  is 
like!" 

He  smiled  as  he  complied  with  her  request,  and  walked  away 
again. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  know  you  have  thought  of 
something." 

"  It  is  like  the  fragrance  that  Christian  society  sometimes  leaves 
upon  the  spirit ;  when  it  is  just  what  it  ought  to  be." 

"  My  Mr.  Marshman  !"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

John  smiled  again.  "  I  thought  of  him,  Ellie.  And  I  thought 
also  of  Cowper's  lines  : — 

"  '  When  one  who  holds  communion  with  the  skies, 
Has  filled  his  urn  where  those  pure  waters  rise, 
Descends  and  dwells  among  us  meaner  things, — 
It  is  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wings  !' " 

Ellen  was  silent  a  moment  from  pleasure. 

"  Well,  I  have  got  an  association  now  with  the  daphne !"  she 
said  joyously;  and  presently  added,  sighing, — "How  much  you 
see  in  every  thing,  that  I  do  not  see  at  all." 

"  Time,  Ellie,"  said  John  ; — "  there  must  be  time  for  that.  It 
will  come.  Time  is  cried  out  upon  as  a  great  thief;  it  is  people's 
own  fault.  Use  him  but  well,  and  you  will  get  from  his  hand 
more  than  he  will  ever  take  from  you." 

Ellen's  thoughts  travelled  on  a  little  way  from  this  speech, — 
and  then  came  a  sigh,  of  some  burden,  as  it  seemed ;  and  her  face 
was  softly  laid  against  the  arm  she  held. 

"  Let  us  leave  all  that  to  God,"  said  John  gently. 

Ellen  started.  "  How  did  you  know — how  could  you  know 
what  I  was  thinking  of?" 

"  Perhaps  my  thoughts  took  the  same  road,"  said  he  smiling. 
"  But  Ellie,  dear,  let  us  look  to  that  one  source  of  happiness  that 
can  never  be  dried  up ;  it  is  not  safe  to  count  upon  any  thing 
else." 

"It  is  not  wonderful,"  said  Ellen  in  a  tremulous  voice, — "if 

"  It  is  not  wonderful,  Ellie,  nor  wrong.     But  we,  who  look  up 
to  God  as  our  Father, — who  rejoice  in  Christ  our  Saviour, — we  are 
v       ff  41 


482  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

happy,  whatever  beside  we  may  gain  or  lose.  Let  us  trust  him, 
and  never  doubt  that,  Ellie." 

"  But  still" — said  Ellen. 

11  But  still,  we  will  hope  and  pray  alike  in  that  matter.  And 
while  we  do,  and  may,  with  our  whole  hearts,  let  us  leave  ourselves 
in  our  Father's  hand.  The  joy  of  the  knowledge  of  Christ !  the 
joy  the  world  cannot  intermeddle  with,  the  peace  it  cannot  take 
away ! — Let  us  make  that  our  own,  Ellie ;  and  for  the  rest  put 
away  all  anxious  care  about  what  we  cannot  control." 

Ellen's  hand  however  did  not  just  then  lie  quite  so  lightly  on  his 
arm  as  it  did  a  few  minutes  ago ;  he  could  feel  that ;  and  could  see 
the  glitter  of  one  or  two  tears  in  the  moonlight  as  they  fell.  The 
hand  was  fondly  taken  in  his  ;  and  as  they  slowly  paced  up  and 
down,  he  went  on  in  low  tones  of  kindness  and  cheerfulness  with 
his  pleasant  talk,  till  she  was  too  happy  in  the  present  to  be  anxious 
about  the  future ;  looked  up  again  and  brightly  into  his  face,  and 
questions  and  answers  came  as  gayly  as  ever. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 

Who  knows  what  may  happen  ?  Patience  and  shuffle  the  cards  ?  .  .  .  Perhaps 
after  all,  I  shall  some  day  go  to  Rome,  and  come  back  St.  Peter. 

LONGFELLOW. 

THE  rest  of  the  winter,  or  rather  the  early  part  of  the  spring, 
passed  happily  away.  March,  at  Thirlwall,  seemed  more  to  belong 
to  the  former  than  the  latter.  Then  spring  came  in  good  earnest ; 
April  and  May  brought  warm  days  and  wild  flowers.  Ellen  re 
freshed  herself  and  adorned  the  room  with  quantities  of  them  ;  and 
as  soon  as  might  be  she  set  about  restoring  the  winter-ruined 
garden.  Mr.  John  was  not  fond  of  gardening ;  he  -provided  her 
with  all  manner  of  tools,  ordered  whatever  work  she  wanted  to  be 
done  for  her,  supplied  her  with  new  plants,  and  seeds,  and  roots, 
and  was  always  ready  to  give  her  his  help  in  any  operations  or 
press  of  business  that  called  for  it.  But  for  the  most  part  Ellen 
hoed,  and  raked,  and  transplanted,  and  sowed  seeds,  while  he  walked 
or  read ;  often  giving  his  counsel  indeed,  asked  and  unasked,  and 
always  coming  in  between  her  and  any  difficult  or  heavy  job.  The 
hours  thus  spent  were  to  Ellen  hours  of  unmixed  delight.  When 
he  did  not  choose  to  go  himself  he  sent  Thomas  with  her,  as  the 
garden  was  some  little  distance  down  the  mountain,  away  from  the 
house  and  from  every  body ;  he  never  allowed  her  to  go  there 
alone. 

As  if  to  verify  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  remark,  that  "something  is 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


483 


always  happening  most  years,"  about  the  middle  of  May  there 
came  letters  that  after  all  determined  John's  going  abroad.  The 
sudden  death  of  two  relatives,  one  after  the  other,  had  left  the 
family  estate  to  Mr.  Humphreys ;  it  required  the  personal  attend 
ance  either  of  himself  or  his  son ;  he  could  not,  therefore  his  son 


must,  go.  Once  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic,  Mr.  John 
thought  it  best  his  going  should  fulfil  all  the  ends  for  which  both 
Mr.  Humphreys  and  Mr.  Marshman  had  desired  it ;  this  would 
occasion  his  stay  to  be  prolonged  to  at  least  a  year,  probably  more. 
And  he  must  set  off  without  delay. 


484  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

In  the  midst,  not  of  his  hurry,  for  Mr.  John  seldom  was  or 
seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  any  thing ;  but  in  the  midst  of  his 
business,  he  took  special  care  of  every  thing  that  concerned  or 
could  possibly  concern  Ellen.  He  arranged  what  books  she  should 
read,  what  studies  she  should  carry  on ;  and  directed  that  about 
these  matters  as  well  as  about  all  others  she  should  keep  up  a  con 
stant  communication  with  him  by  letter.  He  requested  Mrs. 
Chauncey  to  see  that  she  wanted  nothing,  and  to  act  as  her  gen 
eral  guardian  in  all  minor  things,  respecting  which  Mr.  Hum 
phreys  could  be  expected  to  take  no  thought  whatever.  And 
what  Ellen  thanked  him  for  most  of  all,  he  found  time  for  all  his 
wonted  rides,  and  she  thought  more  than  his  wonted  talks  with 
her ;  endeavouring,  as  he  well  knew  how,  both  to  strengthen  and 
cheer  her  mind  in  view  of  his  long  absence.  The  memory  of  those 
hours  never  went  from  her. 

The  family  at  Ventnor  were  exceeding  desirous  that  she  should 
make  one  of  them  during  all  the  time  John  should  be  gone  ;  they 
urged  it  with  every  possible  argument.  Ellen  said  little,  but  he 
knew  she  did  not  wish  it ;  and  finally  compounded  the  matter  by 
arranging  that  she  should  stay  at  the  parsonage  through  the  sum 
mer,  and  spend  the  winter  at  Ventnor,  sharing  all  Ellen  Chauncey's 
advantages  of  every  kind.  Ellen  was  all  the  more  pleased  with 
this  arrangement  that  Mr.  George  Marshman  would  be  at  home. 
The  church  John  had  been  serving  were  becoming  exceedingly 
attached  to  him  and  would  by  no  means  hear  of  giving  him  up  • 
and  Mr.  George  engaged,  if  possible,  to  supply  his  place  while  he 
should  be  away.  Ellen  Chauncey  was  in  ecstasies.  And  it  was 
further  promised  that  the  summer  should  not  pass  without  as 
many  visits  on  both  sides  as  could  well  be  brought  about. 

Ellen  had  the  comfort,  at  the  last,  of  hearing  John  say  that  she 
had  behaved  unexceptionably  well  where  he  knew  it  was  difficult 
for  her  to  behave  well  at  all.  That  was  a  comfort,  from  him, 
whose  notions  of  unexceptionable  behaviour  she  knew  were  re 
markably  high.  But  the  parting,  after  all,  was  a  dreadfully  hard 
matter ;  though  softened  as  much  as  it  could  be  at  the  time  and 
rendered  very  sweet  to  Ellen's  memory  by  the  tenderness,  gentle 
ness,  and  kindness,  with  which  her  brother  without  checking 
soothed  her  grief.  He  was  to  go  early  in  the  morning ;  and  he 
made  Ellen  take  leave  of  him  the  night  before  ;  but  he  was  in  no 
hurry  to  send  her  away ;  and  when  at  length  he  told  her  it  was 
very  late,  and  she  rose  up  to  go,  he  went  with  her  to  the  very  door 
of  her  room  and  there  bade  her  good-night. 

How  the  next  days  passed  Ellen  hardly  knew ;  they  were  un 
speakably  long. 

Not  a  week  after,  one  morning  Nancy  Vawse  came  into  the 
kitchen,  arid  asked  in  her  blunt  fashion, 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  485 

"  Is  Ellen  Montgomery  at  home  ?" 

"I  believe  Miss  Ellen  is  in  the  parlour,"  said  Margery 
dryly. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  her." 

Margery  silently  went  across  the  hall  to  the  sitting-room. 

"  Miss  Ellen,  dear,"  she  said  softly,  "here  is  that  Nancy  girl 
wanting  to  speak  with  you, — will  you  please  to  see  her  ?" 

Ellen  eagerly  desired  Margery  to  let  her  in,  by  no  means  dis 
pleased  to  have  some  interruption  to  the  sorrowful  thoughts  she 
could  not  banish.  She  received  Nancy  very  kindly. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  Ellen !"  said  that  young  lady,  whose  wander 
ing  eye  was  upon  every  thing  but  Ellen  herself, — "  ain't  you  as 
fine  as  a  fiddle  ?  I  guess  you  never  touch  your  fingers  to  a  file 
now-a-days, — do  you  ?" 

"  A  file  !"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  ha' n't  forgot  what  it  means,  I  s'pose,"  said  Nancy  some 
what  scornfully, — "  'cause  if  you  think  I'm  a  going  to  swallow 
that,  you're  mistaken.  I've  seen  you  file  off  tables  down  yonder 
a  few  times,  ha'n't  I  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  remember  now,"  said  Ellen  smiling; — "it  is  so  long 
since  I  heard  the  word  that  I  didn't  know  what  you  meant.  Mar 
gery  calls  it  a  dishcloth,  or  a  floorcloth,  or  something  else." 

"  Well,  you  don't  touch  one  now-a-days,  do  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  have  other  things  to  do." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  have.  You've  got  enough  of  books  now, 
for  once,  ha'n't  you  ?  What  a  lot ! — I  say,  Ellen,  have  you  got  to 
read  all  these  ?' ' 

"I  hope  so,  in  time,"  said  Ellen,  smiling.  "Why  haven't  you 
been  to  see  me  before  ?' ' 

«0h, — I  don't  know!" — said  Nancy,  whose  roving  eye  looked 
a  little  as  if  she  felt  herself  out  of  her  sphere.  "I  didn't  know 
as  you  would  care  to  see  me  now." 

"I  am  very  sorry  you  should  think  so,  Nancy;  I  would  be  as 
glad  to  see  you  as  ever.  I  have  not  forgotten  all  your  old  kindness 
to  me  when  aunt  Fortune  was  sick." 

"You've  forgotten  all  that  went  before  that,  I'spose,"  said 
Nancy  with  a  Half  laugh.  "  You  beat  all !  Most  folks  remember 
and  forget  just  t'other  way  exactly.  But  besides,  I  didn't  know 
but  I  should  catch  myself  in  queer  company." 

"Well — I  am  all  alone  now,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  sigh. 

"Yes,  if  you  warn't  I  wouldn't  be  here,  I  can  tell  you.  What 
do  you  think  I  have  come  for  to-day,  Ellen  ?" 

"  For  any  thing  but  to  see  me  ?" 

Nancy  nodded  very  decisively. 

"What?" 

"  Guess." 

41* 


486  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  How  can  I  possibly  guess  ?  What  have  you  got  tucked  up  in 
your  apron  there  ?' ' 

"Ah! — that's  the  very  thing,"  said  Nancy.  "What  have  I 
got,  sure  enough  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell  through  your  apron,"  said  Ellen  smiling. 

"And /can't  tell  either; — that's  more,  ain't  it?  Now  listen, 
and  I'll  tell  you  where  I  got  it,  and  then  you  may  find  out  what  it 
is,  for  I  don't  know.  Promise  you  won't  tell  any  body." 

"I  don't  like  to  promise  that,  Nancy." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  might  be  something  I  ought  to  tell  somebody 
about." 

"But  it  ain't." 

"If  it  isn't  I  won't  tell.     Can't  you  leave  it  so ?" 

"  But  what  a  plague  !  Here  I  have  gone  and  done  all  this  just 
for  you,  and  now  you  must  go  and  make  a  fuss.  What  hurt  would 
it  do  you  to  promise? — it's  nobody's  business  but  yours  and  mine, 
and  somebody  else's  that  won't  make  any  talk  about  it  I  promise 
you." 

"  I  won't  speak  of  it,  certainly,  Nancy,  unless  I  think  I  ought ; 
can't  you  trust  me?" 

"I  wouldn't  give  two  straws  for  any  body  else's  say  so,"  said 
Nancy; — "  but  as  you're  as  stiff  as  the  mischief  I  s'pose  I'll  have 
to  let  it  go.  I'll  trust  you!  Now  listen.  It  don't  look  like  any 
thing,  does  it  ?" 

"  Why  no,"  said  Ellen  laughing ;  "  you  hold  your  apron  so  loose 
that  I  cannot  see  any  thing." 

"  Well,  now  listen.  You  know  I've  been  helping  down  at  your 
aunt's, — did  you?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  I  have, — these  six  weeks.  You  never  see  any  thing  go  on 
quieter  than  they  do,  Ellen.  I  declare  it's  fun.  Miss  Fortune  never 
was  so  good  in  her  days.  I  don't  mean  she  ain't  as  ugly  as  ever,  you 
know,  but  she  has  to  keep  it  in.  All  I  have  to  do  if  I  think  any 
thing  is  going  wrong,  I  just  let  her  think  I  am  going  to  speak  to 
him  about  it ; — only  I  have  to  do  it  very  cunning  for  fear  she  would 
guess  what  I  am  up  to  ;  and  the  next  thing  I  know  It's  all  straight. 
He  is  about  the  coolest  shaver,"  said  Nancy,  "  I  ever  did  see.  The 
way  he  walks  through  her  notions  once  in  a  while — :not  very  often, 
mind  you,  but  when  he  takes  a  fancy, — it's  fun  to  see !  Oh,  I  can 
get  along  there  first-rate  now.  You  d  have  a  royal  time,  Ellen." 

"  Well,  Nancy— your  story  ?" 

"  Don't  you  be  in  a  hurry  !  I  am  going  to  take  my  time.  Well 
I've  been  there  this  six  weeks  ;  doing  all  sorts  of  things,  you  know  ; 
taking  your  place,  Ellen;  don't  you  wish  you  was  back  in  it? — 
Well  a  couple  of  weeks  since,  Mrs.  Van  took  it  into  her  head 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD,  487 

she  would  have  up  the  wagon  and  go  to  Thirlwall  to  get  herself 
some  things ;  a  queer  start  for  her ;  but  at  any  rate  Van  Brunt 
brought  up  the  wagon  and  in  she  got  and  off  they  went.  Now 
she  meant,  you  must  know,  that  I  should  be  fast  in  the  cellar-kitchen 
all  the  while  she  was  gone,  and  she  thought  she  had  given  me 
enough  to  keep  me  busy  there ;  but  I  was  up  to  her  1  I  was  as 
spry  as  a  cricket,  and  flew  round,  and  got  things  put  up ;  and  then 
I  thought  I'd  have  some  fun.  What  do  you  think  I  did  ? — Mrs. 
Montgomery  was  quietly  sitting  in  the  chimney-corner  and  I  had 
the  whole  house  to  myself.  How  Van  Brunt  looks  out  for  her, 
Ellen  ;  he  won't  let  her  be  put  out  for  any  thing  or  any  body." 

"I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Ellen,  her  face  flushing  and  her  eyes 
watering  ;  "  it  is  just  like  him.  I  love  him  for  it." 

"  The  other  night  she  was  mourning  and  lamenting  at  a  great 
rate  because  she  hadn't  you  to  read  to  her ;  and  what  do  you  think 
he  does  but  goes  and  takes  the  book  and  sits  down  and  reads  to 
her  himself.  You  should  have  seen  Mrs.  Van's  face !" 

"What  book?"   said  Ellen. 

"  What  book? — why  your  book,— the  Bible, — there  ain't  any 
other  book  in  the  house,  as  I  know.  What  on  earth  are  you  cry 
ing  for,  Ellen? — He's  fetched  over  his  mother's  old  Bible,  and 
there  it  lays  on  a  shelf  in  the  cupboard ;  and  he  has  it  out  every 
once  in  a  while.  Maybe  he's  coming  round,  Ellen.  But  do  hold 
up  your  head  and  listen  to  me  !  I  can't  talk  to  you  while  you  lie 
with  your  head  in  the  cushion  like  that.  I  ha'n't  more  than  begun 
my  story  yet." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  see,  I  ain't  in  any  hurry,"  said  Nancy, — "  because  as  soon 
as  I've  finished  I  shall  have  to  be  off;  and  it's  fun  to  talk  to  you. 
What  do  you  think  I  did,  when  I  had  done  up  all  my  chores  ? — 
where  do  you  think  I  found  this,  eh  ?  youd  never  guess." 

"What  is  it?"   said  Ellen. 

"  No  matter  what  it  is  ; — I  don't  know ; — where  do  you  think  I 
found  it?" 

u  How  can  I  tell  ?     I  don't  know." 

"You'll  be  angry  with  me  when  I  tell  you." 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  If  it  was  any  body  else,"  said  Nancy, — "  I'd  ha'  seen  'em  shot 
afore  I'd  ha'  done  it,  or  told  of  it  either;  but  you  ain't  like  any 
body  else.  Look  here  !"  said  she,  tapping  her  apron  gently  with 
one  finger  and  slowly  marking  off  each  word, — "  this — came 
out  of — your — aunt's — box — in — the  closet — up  stairs — in — her 
room." 

"  Nancy !" 

"  Ay,  Nancy !  there  it  is.  Now  you  look !  'T won't  alter  it, 
Ellen  ;  that's  where  it  was,  if  you  look  till  tea-time." 


488  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  But  how  came  you  there  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  wanted  to  amuse  myself,  1  tell  you.  Partly  to  please 
myself,  and  partly  because  Mrs.  Van  would  be  so  mad  if  she  knew 
it." 

"  Oh,  Nancy  1" 

"  Well — I  don't  say  it  was  right, — but  any  how  I  did  it ;  you 
ha'n't  heard  what  I  found  yet." 

"  You  had  better  put  it  right  back  again,  Nancy,  the  first  time 
you  have  a  chance." 

"  Put  it  back  again  — I'll  give  it  to  you,  and  then  you  may  put 
it  back  again,  if  you  have  a  mind.  I  should  like  to  see  you.  Why 
you  don't  know  what  I  found." 

"  Well,  what  did  you  find?" 

"  The  box  was  chuck  full  of  all  sorts  of  things,  and  I  had  a 
mind  to  see  what  was  in  it,  so  I  pulled  'em  out  one  after  the  other 
till  I  got  to  the  bottom.  At  the  very  bottom  was  some  letters  and 
papers,  and  there, — staring  right  in  my  face, — the  first  thing  I  see 
was,  '  Miss  Ellen  Montgomery.'  ' 

"  Oh,  Nancy  !"  screamed  Ellen, — "  a  letter  for  me  ?" 

"  Hush  ! — and  sit  down,  wiM  you  ? — yes,  a  whole  package  of 
letters  for  you.  Well,  thought  I,  Mrs.  Van  has  no  right  to  that 
any  how,  and  she  ain't  a  going  to  take  the  care  of  it  any  more  ;  so 
I  just  took  it  up  and  put  it  in  the  bosom  of  my  frock  while  I 
looked  to  see  if  there  was  any  more  for  you,  but  there  warn't. 
There  it  is!"— 

And  she  tossed  the  package  into  Ellen's  lap.  Ellen's  head 
swam. 

u  Well,  good-by  !"  said  Nancy  rising ; — "  I  may  go  now  I  sup 
pose,  and  no  thanks  to  me." 

"Yes  I  do — I  do  thank  you  very  much,  Nancy,"  cried  Ellen, 
starting  up  and  taking  her  by  the  hand, — "I  do  thank  you, — 
though  it  wasn't  right ; — but  oh,  how  could  she  !  how  could  she  !" 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Nancy  ;  "  to  ask  that  of  Mrs.  Van  !  she  could 
do  any  thing.  Why  she  did  it,  ain't  so  easy  to  tell." 

Ellen,  bewildered,  scarcely  knew,  only/eft,  that  Nancy  had  gone. 
The  outer  cover  of  her  package,  the  seal  of  which  was  broken,  con 
tained  three  letters ;  two  addressed  to  Ellen,  in  her  father's  hand, 
the  third  to  another  person.  The  seals  of  these  had  not  been 
broken.  The  first  that  Ellen  opened  she  saw  was  all  in  the  same 
hand  with  the  direction  ;  she  threw  it  down  and  eagerly  tried  the 
other.  And  yes  !  there  was  indeed  the  beloved  character  of  which 
she  never  thought  to  have  seen  another  specimen.  Ellen's  heart 
swelled  with  many  feelings ;  thankfulness,  tenderness,  joy,  and 
sorrow,  past  and  present ; — that  letter  was  not  thrown  down,  but 
grasped,  while  tears  fell  much  too  fast  for  eyes  to  do  their  work. 
It  was  long  before  she  could  get  far  in  the  letter.  But  when  she 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE   WORLD.  489 

had  fairly  begun  it,  she  went  on  swiftly,  and  almost  breathlessly, 
to  the  end. 

"  MY  DEAR,  DEAR  LITTLE   ELLEN, 

"  I  am  scarcely  able — but  I  must  write  to  you  once  more.  Once 
more,  daughter,  for  it  is  not  permitted  me  to  see  your  face  again 
in  this  world.  I  look  to  see  it,  my  dear  child,  where  it  will  be 
fairer  than  ever  here  it  seemed,  even  to  me.  I  shall  die  in  this 
hope  and  expectation.  Ellen,  remember  it.  Your  last  letters  have 
greatly  encouraged  and  rejoiced  me.  I  am  comforted,  and  can 
leave  you  quietly  in  that  hand  that  has  led  me  and  I  believe  is 
leading  you.  God  bless  you,  my  child ! 

"  Ellen,  I  have  a  mother  living,  and  she  wishes  to  receive  you 
as  her  own  when  I  am  gone.  It  is  best  you  should  know  at  once 
why  I  never  spoke  to  you  of  her.  After  your  aunt  Bessy  married 
and  went  to  New  York,  it  displeased  and  grieved  my  mother  greatly 
that  I  too,  who  had  always  been  her  favourite  child,  should  leave 
her  for  an  American  home.  And  when  I  persisted,  in  spite  of  all 
that  entreaties  and  authority  could  urge,  she  said  she  forgave  me 
for  destroying  all  her  prospects  of  happiness,  but  that  after  I 
should  be  married  and  gone  she  should  consider  me  as  lost  to  her 
entirely,  and  so  I  must  consider  myself.  She  never  wrote  to  me, 
and  I  never  wrote  to  her  after  I  reached  America.  She  was  dead 
to  me.  I  do  not  say  that  I  did  not  deserve  it. 

.  "  But  I  have  written  to  her  lately  and  she  has  written  to  me. 
She  permits  me  to  die  in  the  joy  of  being  entirely  forgiven,  and  in 
the  further  joy  of  knowing  that  the  only  source  of  care  I  had  left 
is  done  away.  She  will  take  you  to  her  heart,  to  the  place  I  once 
filled,  and  I  believe  fill  yet.  She  longs  to  have  you,  and  to  have 
you  as  entirely  her  own,  in  all  respects ;  and  to  this,  in  considera 
tion  of  the  wandering  life  your  father  leads,  and  will  lead, — I  am 
willing  and  he  is  willing  to  agree.  It  is  arranged  so.  The  old 
happy  home  of  my  childhood  will  be  yours,  my  Ellen.  It  joys 
me  to  think  of  it.  Your  father  will  write  to  your  aunt  and  to  you 
on  the  subject,  and  furnish  you  with  funds.  It  is  our  desire  that 
you  should  take  advantage  of  the  very  first  opportunity  of  proper 
persons  going  to  Scotland  who  will  be  willing  to  take  charge  of 
you.  Your  dear  friends,  Mr.  and  Miss  Humphreys,  will,  I  dare 
say,  help  you  in  this. 

"  To  them  I  could  say  much,  if  I  had  strength.  But  words  are 
little.  If  blessings  and  prayers  from  a  full  heart  are  worth  any 
thing,  they  are  the  richer.  My  love  and  gratitude  to  them  can 
not " 

The  writer  had  failed  here ;  and  what  there  was  of  the  letter 
had  evidently  been  written  at  different  times.  Captain  Mont- 


490  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

gomery's  was  to  the  same  purpose.  He  directed  Ellen  to  embrace 
the  first  opportunity  of  suitable  guardians,  to  cross  the  Atlantic 
and  repair  to  No.  —  Georges-street,  Edinburgh  ;  and  that  Miss 
Fortune  would  give  her  the  money  she  would  need,  which  he  had 
written  to  her  to  do,  and  that  the  accompanying  letter  Ellen  was  to 
carry  with  her  and  deliver  to  Mrs.  Lindsay,  her  grandmother. 

Ellen  felt  as  if  her  head  would  split.  She  took  up  that  letter, 
gazed  at  the  strange  name  and  direction  which  had  taken  such  new 
and  startling  interest  for  her,  wondered  over  the  thought  of  what 
she  was  ordered  to  do  with  it,  marvelled  what  sort  of  fingers  they 
were  which  would  open  it,  or  whether  it  would  ever  be  opened ; — 
and  finally,  in  a  perfect  maze,  unable  to  read,  think,  or  even  weep, 
she  carried  her  package  of  letters  into  her  own  room,  the  room  that 
had  been  Alice's,  laid  herself  on  the  bed,  and  them  beside  her; 
and  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

She  woke  up  toward  evening  with  the  pressure  of  a  mountain 
weight  upon  her  mind.  Her  thoughts  and  feelings  were  a  maze 
still ;  and  not  Mr.  Humphreys  himself  could  be  more  grave  and 
abstracted  than  poor  Ellen  was  that  night.  So  many  points  were 
to  be  settled, — so  many  questions  answered  to  herself, — it  was  a 
good  while  before  Ellen  could  disentangle  them,  and  know  what 
she  did  think  and  feel,  and  what  she  would  do. 

She  very  soon  found  out  her  own  mind  upon  one  subject, — she 
would  be  exceeding  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  obey  the  directions  in 
the  letters.  But  must  she  obey  them  ? 

"  I  have  promised  Alice,"  thought  Ellen  ; — "  I  have  promised  Mr. 
Humphreys — I  can't  be  adopted  twice.  And  this  Mrs.  Lindsay, — 
my  grandmother  ! — she  cannot  be  nice  or  she  wouldn't  have  treated 
my  mother  so.  She  cannot  be  a  nice  person  ; — hard, — she  must 
be  hard  ; — I  never  want  to  see  her.  My  mother  ! — But  then  my 
mother  loved  her,  arid  was  very  glad  to  have  me  go  to  her.  Oh  ! 
— oh  !  how  could  she  ! — how  could  they  do  so  ! — when  they  didn't 
know  how  it  might  be  with  me,  and  what  dear  friends  they  might 
make  me  leave  !  Oh,  it  was  cruel  ! — But  then  they  did  not  know, 
that  is  the  very  thing — they  thought  I  would  have  nobody  but 
aunt  Fortune,  and  so  it's  no  wonder — Oh,  what  shall  I  do  !  What 
ought  I  to  do  ?  These  people  in  Scotland  must  have  given  me  up 
by  this  time  ;  it's — let  me  see — it's  just  about  three  years  now, — 
a  little  less, — since  these  letters  were  written.  I  am  older  now,  and 
circumstances  are  changed ;  I  have  a  home  and  a  father  and  a 
brother;  may  I  not  judge  for  myself? — But  my  mother  and  my 
father  have  ordered  me, — what  shall  I  do  ! — If  John  were  only 
here — but  perhaps  he  would  make  me  go, — he  might  think  it  right. 
And  to  leave  him, — and  maybe  never  to  see  him  again  ! — and  Mr. 
Humphreys!  and  how  lonely  he  would  be  without  me,  I  cannot! 
I  will  not !  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  !  What  shall  I  do !" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  491 

Ellen's  meditations  gradually  plunged  her  in  despair;  for  she 
could  not  look  at  the  event  of  being  obliged  to  go,  and  she  could 
not  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  perhaps  it  might  come  to  that.  She 
wept  bitterly  ;  it  didn't  mend  the  matter.  She  thought  painfully, 
fearfully,  long ;  and  was  no  nearer  an  end.  She  could  not  endure 
to  submit  the  matter  to  Mr.  Humphreys  ;  she  feared  his  decision  ; 
and  she  feared  also  that  he  would  give  her  the  money  Miss  Fortune 
had  failed  to  supply  for  the  journey ;  how  much  it  might  be  Ellen 
had  no  idea.  She  could  not  dismiss  the  subject  as  decided  by  cir 
cumstances,  for  conscience  pricked  her  with  the  fifth  commandment. 
She  was  miserable.  It  happily  occurred  to  her  at  last  to  take 
counsel  with  Mrs.  Vawse ;  this  might  be  done  she  knew  without 
betraying  Nancy ;  Mrs.  Vawse  was  much  too  honourable  to  press 
her  as  to  how  she  came  by  the  letters,  and  her  word  could  easily  be 
obtained  not  to  speak  of  the  affairs  to  any  one.  As  for  Miss  Fortune's 
conduct,  it  must  be  made  known  ;  there  was  no  help  for  that.  So 
it  was  settled ;  and  Ellen's  breast  was  a  little  lightened  of  its  load 
of  care  for  that  time ;  she  had  leisure  to  think  of  some  other 
things. 

Why  had  Miss  Fortune  kept  back  the  letters  ?  Ellen  guessed 
pretty  well,  but  she  did  not  know  quite  all.  The  package,  with 
its  accompanying  despatch  to  Miss  Fortune,  had  arrived  shortly 
after  Ellen  first  heard  the  news  of  her  mother's  death,  when 
she  was  refuged  with  Alice  at  the  parsonage.  At  the  time  of  its 
being  sent  Captain  Montgomery's  movements  were  extremely  un 
certain  ;  and  in  obedience  to  the  earnest  request  of  his  wife  he 
directed  that  without  waiting  for  his  own  return  Ellen  should  im 
mediately  set  out  for  Scotland.  Part  of  the  money  for  her  expenses 
he  sent ;  the  rest  he  desired  his  sister  to  furnish,  promising  to  make 
all  straight  when  he  should  come  home.  But  it  happened  that  he 
was  already  this  lady's  debtor  in  a  small  amount,  which  Miss 
Fortune  had  serious  doubts  of  ever  being  repaid ;  she  instantly 
determined  that  if  she  had  once  been  a  fool  in  lending  him  money, 
she  would  not  a  second  time  in  adding  to  the  sum  ;  if  he  wanted 
to  send  his  daughter  on  a  wild-goose-chase  after  great  relations,  he 
might  come  home  himself  and  see  to  it ;  it  was  none  of  her  business. 
Quietly  taking  the  remittance  to  refund  his  own  owing,  she  of 
course  threw  the  letters  into  her  box,  as  the  delivery  of  them  would 
expose  the  whole  transaction.  There  they  lay  till  Nancy  found 
them. 

Early  next  morning  after  breakfast  Ellen  came  into  the  kitchen, 
and  begged  Margery  to  ask  Thomas  to  bring  the  Brownie  to  the 
door.  Surprised  at  the  energy  in  her  tone  and  manner,  Margery 
gave  the  message  and  added  that  Miss  Ellen  seemed  to  have  picked 
up  wonderfully ;  she  hadn't  heard  her  speak  so  brisk  since  Mr. 
John  went  away. 


492  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

The  Brownie  was  soon  at  the  door,  but  not  so  soon  as  Ellen, 
who  had  dressed  in  feverish  haste.  The  Brownie  was  not  alone ; 
there  was  old  John  saddled  and  bridled,  and  Thomas  Grimes  in 
waiting. 

"It's  not  necessary  for  you  to  take  that  trouble,  Thomas,"  said 
Ellen  ; — "  I  don't  mind  going  alone  at  all." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Ellen, — (Thomas  touched  his  hat) — 
but  Mr.  John  left  particular  orders  that  I  was  to  go  with  Miss  Ellen 
whenever  it  pleased  her  to  ride;  never  failing." 

"Did  he!"  said  Ellen; — "but  is  it  convenient  for  you  now, 
Thomas?  I  want  to  go  as  far  as  Mrs.  Vawse's." 

"It's  always  convenient,  Miss  Ellen, — always;  Miss  Ellen  need 
not  think  of  that  at  all,  I  am  always  ready." 

Ellen  mounted  upon  the  Brownie,  sighing  for  the  want  of  the 
hand  that  used  to  lift  her  to  the  saddle ;  and  spurred  by  this  recol 
lection  set  off  at  a  round  pace. 

Soon  she  was  at  Mrs.  Vawse's;  and  soon  finding  her  alone,  Ellen 
had  spread  out  all  her  difficulties  before  her  and  given  her  the 
letters  to  read.  Mrs.  Vawse  readily  promised  to  speak  on  the 
subject  to  no  one  without  Ellen's  leave  ;  her  suspicions  fell  upon 
Mr.  Van  Brunt,  not  her  grand-daughter.  She  heard  all  the  story, 
and  read  the  letters  before  making  any  remark. 

"  Now,  dear  Mrs.  Vawse,"  said  Ellen  anxiously,  when  the  last 
one  was  folded  up  and  laid  on  the  table, — "  what  do  you  think?" 

"I  think,  my  child,  you  must  go,"  said  the  old  lady  steadily. 

Ellen  looked  keenly,  as  if  to  find  some  other  answer  in  her  face  ; 
her  own  changing  more  and  more  for  a  minute,  till  she  sunk  it  in 
her  hands. 

"  Cela  vous  donne  beaucoup  de  chagrin, — je  le  vois  bien,"  said 
the  old  lady  tenderly.  (Their  conversations  were  always  in  Mrs. 
Vawse's  tongue.) 

"  But,"  said  Ellen  presently,  lifting  her  head  again,  (there  were 
no  tears) — "  I  cannot  go  without  money." 

"  That  can  be  obtained  without  any  difficulty." 

"  From  whom  ?  I  cannot  ask  aunt  Fortune  for  it,  Mrs.  Vawse  ; 
I  could  not  do  it!" 

"  There  is  no  difficulty  about  the  money.  Show  your  letters  to 
Mr.  Humphreys." 

"  Oh.  I  cannot!"  said  Ellen,  covering  her  face  again. 

"  Will  you  let  me  do  it?  I  will  speak  to  him  if  you  permit 
me." 

"  But  what  use?  He  ought  not  to  give  me  the  money,  Mrs. 
Vawse?  It  would  not  be  right;  and  to  show  him  the  letters 
would  be  like  asking  him  for  it.  Oh,  I  can't  bear  to  do  that !" 

"  He  would  give  it  you,  Ellen,  with  the  greatest  pleasure." 

"Oh,  no,  Mrs.   Vawse,"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears, — "he 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  493 

would  never  be  pleased  to  send  me  away  from  him !  I  know— I 
know— he  would  miss  me.     Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

«  Not  that,  my  dear  Ellen,"  said  the  old  lady,  coming  to  her  and 
gently  stroking  her  head  with  both  hands.  «  You  must  do  what  is 
right;  and  you  know  it  cannot  be  but  that  will  be  the  best  and 
happiest  for  you  in  the  end." 

u  oh,  I  wish— I  wish,"  exclaimed  Ellen  from  the  bottom  ot  her 
heart,—"  those  letters  had  never  been  found  1" 

"  Nay,  Ellen,  that  is  not  right." 

«  But  I  promised  Alice,  Mrs.  Vawse  ;  ought  I  go  away  and  leave 
him  ?  Oh,  Mrs.  Vawse,  it  is  very  hard  !  Ought  I  ?" 

"  Your  father  and  your  mother  have  said  it,  my  child. 

«  But  they  never  would  have  said  it  if  they  had  known  ? 

"  But  they  did  not  know,  Ellen  ;  and  here  it  is." 

Ellen  wept  violently,  regardless  of  the  caresses  and  soothing 
words  which  her  old  friend  lavished  upon  her. 

"  There  is  one  thing  !"  said  she  at  last,  raising  her  head,—"  J 
don't  know  of  any  body  going  to  Scotland,  and  I  am  not  likely  to ; 
and  if  I  only  do  not  before  autumn,— that  is  not  a  good  time  to  go, 
and  then  comes  winter." 

«  My  dear  Ellen !"  said  Mrs.  Vawse  sorrowfully,  "  I  must  drive 
you  from  your  last  hope.     Don't  you  know  that  Mrs.  Gillespie  is 
o-oino-  abroad  with  all  her  family?— next  month  I  think." 
3  Ellen  grew  pale  for  a  minute,  and  sat  holding  bitter  counsel  with 
her  own  heart.     Mrs.  Vawse  hardly  knew  what  to  say  next. 

"  You  need  not  feel  uneasy  about  your  journeying  expenses, 
she  remarked  after  a  pause ;— "  you  can  easily  repay  them,  if  you 
wish  when  you  reach  your  friends  in  Scotland." 

Ellen  did  not  hear  her.  She  looked  up  with  an  odd  expression 
of  determination  in  her  face,  determination  taking  its  stand  upon 

difficulties. 

"I  shan't  stay  there,  Mrs.  Vawse,  if  I  go !— I  shall  go,  I  sup 
pose,  if  I  must ;  but  do  you  think  any  thing  will  keep  me  there  f 
Never !' ' 

"  You  will  stay  for  the  same  reason  that  you  go  for,  Ellen  ;  to 

do  your  duty." 

"  Yes,  till  I  am  old  enough  to  choose  for  myself,  Mrs.  Vawse, 
and  then  I  shall  come  back ;  if  they  will  let  me." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  '  they  ?'  ' 

"  Mr.  Humphreys  and  Mr.  John." 

«  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  the  old  lady  kindly,  "  be  satisfied  with 
doing  your  duty  now  ;  leave  the  future.  While  you  follow  him 
God  will  be  your  friend  ;  is  not  that  enough  ?  and  all  things  shall 
work  for  your  good.  You  do  not  know  what  you  will  wish  when 
the  time  comes  you  speak  of.  You  do  not  know  what  new  friends 
you  may  find  to  love." 


494  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  had  in  her  own  heart  the  warrant  for  what  she  had  said 
and  what  she  saw  by  her  smile  Mrs.  Vawse  doubted;  but  she  dis 
dained  to  assert  what  she  could  bring  nothing  to  prove.  She  took 
a  sorrowful  leave  of  her  old  friend  and  returned  home. 

After  dinner,  when  Mr.  Humphreys  was  about  going  back  to  his 
study,  Ellen  timidly  stopped  him  and  gave  him  her  letters,  and 
asked  him  to  look  at  them  some  time  when  he  had  leisure.  She 
told  him  also  where  they  were  found  and  how  long  they  had  lain 
there,  and  that  Mrs.  Vawse  had  said  she  ought  to  show  them  to 
him. 

She  guessed  he  would  read  them  at  once, — and  she  waited  with 
a  beating  heart.  In  a  little  while  she  heard  his  step  coming  back 
along  the  hall.  He  came  and  sat  down  by  her  on  the  sofa  and 
took  her  hand. 

"  What  is  your  wish  in  this  matter,  my  child?"  he  said  gravely 
and  cheerfully. 

Ellen's  look  answered  that. 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  say  I  must,  sir,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  I  dare  not  ask  myself  what  /  would  wish,  Ellen  ;  the  matter  is 
taken  out  of  our  hands.  You  must  do  your  parents'  will,  my 
child.  I  will  try  to  hope  thai  you  will  gain  more  than  I  lose.  As 
the  Lord  pleases !  If  I  am  bereaved  of  my  children,  I  am  be 
reaved." 

"Mrs.  Gillespie,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  is  about  going  to 
England ; — I  know  not  how  soon.  It  will  be  best  for  you  to  see 
her  at  once  and  make  all  arrangements  that  may  be  necessary.  I 
will  go  with  you  to-morrow  to  Ventnor  if  the  day  be  a  good  one." 

There  was  something  Ellen  longed  to  say,  but  it  was  impossible 
to  get  it  out ;  she  could  not  utter  a  word.  She  had  pressed  her 
hands  upon  her  face  to  try  to  keep  herself  quiet ;  but  Mr.  Hum 
phreys  could  see  the  deep  crimson  flushing  to  the  very  roots  of  her 
hair.  He  drew  her  close  within  his  arms  for  a  moment,  kissed  her 
forehead,  Ellen  felt  it  was  sadly,  and  went  away.  It  was  well  she 
did  not  hear  him  sigh  as  he  went  back  along  the  hall ;  it  was  well 
she  did  not  see  the  face  of  more  settled  gravity  with  which  he  sat 
down  to  his  writing ;  she  had  enough  of  her  own. 

They  went  to  Ventnor.  Mrs.  Gillespie  with  great  pleasure 
undertook  the  charge  of  her  and  promised  to  deliver  her  safely  to 
her  friends  in  Scotland.  It  was  arranged  that  she  should  go  back 
to  Thirlwall  to  make  her  adieus ;  and  that  in  a  week  or  two  a  car 
riage  should  be  sent  to  bring  her  to  Ventnor,  where  her  prepara 
tions  for  the  journey  should  be  made,  and  whence  the  whole  party 
would  set  off. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  a  Scotchwoman  after  all,  Ellen,"  said 
Miss  Sophia. 

"  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  be  an  American,  Miss  Sophia." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  495 

«  Why  Hutchinson  will  tell  you,"  said  the  young  lady,  <Hhat  it 
is  infinitely  more  desirable  to  be  a  Scotchwoman  than  that." 

Ellen's  face,  however,  looked  so  little  inclined  to  be  merry  that 
she  took  up  the  subject  in  another  tone. 

"  Seriously,  do  you  know,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  thinking  it  is 
a  very  happy  thing  for  you.  I  don't  know  what  would  become  of 
you  alone  in  that  great  parsonage  house.  You  would  mope  your 
self  to  death  in  a  little  while ;  especially  now  that  Mr.  John  is 
gone." 

«  He  will  be  back,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes  but  what  if  he  is?  he  can't  stay  at  Thirl  wall,  child.  He 
can't  live  thirty  miles  from  his  church  you  know.  Did  you  think 
he  would?  They  think  all  the  world  of  him  already.  I  expect 
they'll  barely  put  up  with  Mr.  George  while  he  is  gone  ;— they 
will  want  Mr.  John  all  to  themselves  when  he  comes  back,  you 
may  rely  on  that.  What  are  you  thinking  of,  child?" 

For  Ellen's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  two  or  three  thoughts 
which  Miss  Sophia  could  not  read. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  are  smiling  at,  she  said  with 
some  curiosity.  But  the  smile  was  almost  immediately  quenched 

in  tears. 

Notwithstanding  Miss  Sophia's  discouraging  talk,  JUleft  pri 
vately  agreed  with  Ellen  Chauncey  that  the  Brownie  should  be 
sent  to  her  to  keep  and  use  as  her  own,  till  his  mistress  should  come 
lack;  both  children  being  entirely  of  opinion  that  the  arrange 
ment  was  a  most  unexceptionable  one. 

It  was  not  forgotten  that  the  lapse  of  three  years  since  the  date 
of  the  letters  left  some  uncertainty  as  to  the  present  state  of  affairs 
amonj*  Ellen's  friends  in  Scotland  ;  but  this  doubt  was  not  thought 
sufficient  to  justify  her  letting  pass  so  excellent  an  opportunity  of 
making  the  journey.  Especially  as  Captain  Montgomery's  letter 
spoke  of  an  uncle,  to  whom  equally  with  her  grandmother,  Ellen 
was  to  be  consigned.  In  case  circumstances  would  permit  it,  Mrs. 
Gillespie  engaged  to  keep  Ellen  with  her,  and  bring  her  home  to 
America  when  she  herself  should  return. 

And  in  little  more  than  a  month  they  were  gone  ;  adieus  and 
preparations  and  all  were  over.  Ellen's  parting  with  Mrs.  Vawse 
was  very  tender  and  very  sad  ;— with  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  extremely  and 
gratefully  affectionate,  on  both  sides ;— with  her  aunt,  constrained 
and  brief;— with  Margery,  very  sorrowful  indeed.  But  Ellen  s 
lono-est  and  most  lingering  adieu  was  to  Captain  Parry,  the  old 
grey  cat.  For  one  whole  evening  she  sat  with  him  in  her  arms ; 
and  over  poor  pussy  were  shed  the  tears  that  fell  for  many  better 
loved  and  better  deserving  personages,  as  well  as  those  not  a  few 
that  were  wept  for  him.  Since  Alice's  death  Parry  had  transferred 
his  entire  confidence  and  esteem  to  Ellen ;  whether  from  feeling  a 


496  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

want,  or  because  love  and  tenderness  had  taught  her  the  touch  and 
the  tone  that  were  fitted  to  win  his  regard.  Only  John  shared  it. 
Ellen  was  his  chief  favourite  and  almost  constant  companion.  And 
bitterer  tears  Ellen  shed  at  no  time  than  that  evening  before  she 
went  away,  over  the  old  cat.  She  could  not  distress  kitty  with  her 
distress,  nor  weary  him  with  the  calls  upon  his  sympathy,  though 
indeed  it  is  true  that  he  sundry  times  poked  his  nose  up  wonder- 
ingly  and  caressingly  in  her  face.  She  had  no  remonstrance  or 
interruption  to  fear ;  and  taking  pussy  as  the  emblem  and  repre 
sentative  of  the  whole  household,  Ellen  wept  them  all  over  him  ; 
with  a  tenderness  and  a  bitterness  that  were  somehow  intensified 
by  the  sight  of  the  grey  coat,  and  white  paws,  and  kindly  face, 
of  her  unconscious  old  brute  friend. 

The  old  people  at  Carra-carra  were  taken  leave  of;  the  Brownie 
too,  with  great  difficulty.  And  Nancy. 

"I  am  real  sorry  you  are  going,  Ellen,"  said  she; — "you're 
the  only  soul  in  town  I  care  about.  I  wish  I'd  thrown  them  letters 
in  the  fire  after  all !  Who'd  ha'  thought  it !" 

Ellen  could  not  help  in  her  heart  echoing  the  wish. 

"I'm  real  sorry,  Ellen,"  she  repeated.  "  Ain't  there  something 
I  can  do  for  you  when  you  are  gone?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  dear  Nancy,"  said  Ellen,  weeping, — "if  you  would 
only  take  care  of  your  dear  grandmother.  She  is  left  alone  now. 
If  you  would  only  take  care  of  her,  and  read  your  Bible,  and  be 
good,  Nancy, — -oh,  Nancy,  Nancy  !  do,  do  !" 

They  kissed  each  other,  and  Nancy  went  away  fairly  crying. 

Mrs.  Marshman's  own  woman,  a  steady  excellent  person,  had 
come  in  the  carriage  for  Ellen.  And  the  next  morning  early  after 
breakfast,  when  every  thing  else  was  ready,  she  went  into  Mr. 
Humphreys'  study  to  bid  the  last  dreaded  good-by.  She  thought 
her  obedience  was  costing  her  dear. 

It  was  nearly  a  silent  parting.  He  held  her  a  long  time  in  his 
arms ;  and  there  Ellen  bitterly  thought  her  place  ought  to  be. 
"  What  have  I  to  do  to  seek  new  relations  ?"  she  said  to  herself. 
But  she  was  speechless ;  till  gently  relaxing  his  hold  he  tenderly 
smoothed  back  her  disordered  hair,  and  kissing  her,  said  a  very 
few  grave  words  of  blessing  and  counsel.  Ellen  gathered  all  her 
strength  together  then,  for  she  had  something  that  must  be  spoken. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  falling  on  her  knees  before  him  and  looking  up 
in  his  face, — "  this  don't  alter — you  do  not  take  back  what  you 
said,  do  you?" 

"  What  that  I  said,  my  child?" 

"That,"  said  Ellen,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  on  his  knee, 
and  scarce  able  to  speak  with  great  effort, — "  that  which  you  said 
when  I  first  came — that  which  you  said  about " 

"  About  what,  my  dear  child?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


497 

Mayn't 


"  My  going  away  don't  change  any  thing,  does  it,  sir? 
I  come  back,  if  ever  I  can?" 

He  raised  her  up  and  drew  her  close  to  his  bosom  again. 

"  My  dear  little  daughter,"  said  he,  "  you  cannot  be  so  glad  to 
come  back  as  my  arms  and  my  heart  will  be  to  receive  you.  I 
scarce  dare  hope  to  see  that  day,  but  all  in  this  house  is  yours,  dear 
Ellen,  as  well  when  in  Scotland  as  here.  I  take  back  nothing,  my 
daughter.  Nothing  is  changed." 


A  word  or  two  more  of  affection  and  blessing,  which  Ellen  was 
utterly  unable  to  answer  in  any  way, — and  she  went  to  the  car 
riage  ;  with  one  drop  of  cordial  in  her  heart,  that  she  fed  upon  a 
long  while.  "  He  called  me  his  daughter ! — he  never  said  that  be 
fore  since  Alice  died  I  Oh,  so  I  will  be  as  long  as  I  live,  if  I  find 
fifty  new  relations.  But  what  good  will  a  daughter  three  thousand 
miles  off  do  him  1" 


99 


42* 


498  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD, 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

Speed.  Item.     She  is  proud. 

Laun.  Out  with  that; — it  was  Eve's  legacy,  and  cannot  be  ta'en  from  her. 

SHAKSPKARE. 

THE  voyage  was  peaceful  and  prosperous ;  in  due  time  the  whole 
party  found  themselves  safe  in  London.  Ever  since  they  set  out 
Ellen  had  been  constantly  gaining  on  Mrs.  Gillespie's  good  will ; 
the  major  hardly  saw  her  but  she  had  something  to  say  about  that 
"  best-bred  child  in  the  world."  "  Best-hearted  too,  I  think,"  said 
the  major;  and  even  Mrs.  Gillespie  owned  that  there  was  some 
thing  more  than  good-breeding  in  Ellen's  politeness.  She  had  good 
trial  of  it;  Mrs.  Gillespie  was  much  longer  ailing  than  any  of  the 
party ;  and  when  Ellen  got  well,  it  was  her  great  pleasure  to  de 
vote  herself  to  the  service  of  the  only  member  of  the  Marshman 
family  now  within  her  reach.  She  could  never  do  too  much.  She 
watched  by  her,  read  to  her,  was  quick  to  see  and  perform  all  the 
little  offices  of  attention  and  kindness  where  a  servant's  hand  is 
not  so  acceptable  ;  and  withal  never  was  in  the  way  nor  put  herself 
forward.  Mrs.  Gillespie's  own  daughter  was  much  less  helpful. 
Both  she  and  William,  however,  had  long  since  forgotten  the  old 
grudge,  and  treated  Ellen  as  well  as  they  did  any  body ;  rather 
better.  Major  Gillespie  was  attentive  and  kind  as  possible  to  the 
gentle,  well-behaved  little  body  that  was  always  at  his  wife's  pil 
low  ;  and  even  Lester,  the  maid,  told  one  of  her  friends  "  she  was 
such  a  sweet  little  lady  that  it  was  a  pleasure  and  gratification  to 
do  any  thing  for  her."  Lester  acted  this  out;  and  in  her  kindly 
disposition  Ellen  found  very  substantial  comfort  and  benefit 
throughout  the  voyage. 

Mrs.  Gillespie  told  her  husband  she  should  be  rejoiced  if  it  turned 
out  that  they  might  keep  Ellen  with  them  and  carry  her  back  to 
America ;  she  only  wished  it  were  not  for  Mr.  Humphreys  but  her 
self.  As  their  destination  was  not  now  Scotland  but  Paris,  it  was 
proposed  to  write  to  Ellen's  friends  to  ascertain  whether  any  change 
had  occurred,  or  whether  they  still  wished  to  receive  her.  This 
however  was  rendered  unnecessary.  They  were  scarcely  established 
in  their  hotel,  when  a  gentleman  from  Edinburgh,  an  intimate 
friend  of  the  Ventnor  family,  and  whom  Ellen  herself  had  more 
than  once  met  there,  came  to  see  them.  Mrs.  Gillespie  bethought 
herself  to  make  inquiries  of  him. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  family  of  Lindsays,  in  Georges- street, 
Mr.  Dundas?" 

''Lindsays?  yes,  perfectly  well.     Do  you  know  them?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  499 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  very  much  interested  in  one  of  the  family.  Is 
the  old  lady  living?" 

"  Yes,  certainly  ; — not  very  old  either — not  above  sixty,  or  sixty- 
five  ;  and  as  hale  and  alert  as  at  forty.  A  very  fine  old  lady  " 

"  A  large  family  ?" 

"  Oh,  no ;  Mr.  Lindsay  is  a  widower  this  some  years,  with  no 
children ;  and  there  is  a  widowed  daughter  lately  come  home, — 
Lady  Keith  ;— that's  all." 

"  Mr.  Lindsay — that  is  the  son  ?" 

"  Yes.  You  would  like  them.  They  are  excellent  people— ex 
cellent  family — wealthy — beautiful  country  seat  on  the  south  bank 
of  the  Tyne,  some  miles  out  of  Edinburgh ;  I  was  down  there  two 
weeks  ago ;— entertain  most  handsomely  and  agreeably,  two  things 
that  do  not  always  go  together.  You  meet  a  pleasanter  circle  no 
where  than  at  Lindsay's." 

"  And  that  is  the  whole  family  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  That  is  all.  There  were  two  daughters  married  to  America 
some  dozen  or  so  years  ago.  Mrs.  Lindsay  took  it  very  hard,  I 
believe,  but  she  bore  up,  and  bears  up  now,  as  if  misfortune  had 
never  crossed  her  path  ;  though  the  death  of  Mr.  Lindsay's  wife 
and  son  was  another  great  blow.  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  grey 
hair  on  her  head  at  this  moment.  There  is  some  peculiarity  about 
thein  perhaps, — some  pride  too; — but  that  is  an  amiable  weak 
ness,"  he  added  laughing,  as  he  rose  to  go ;— "  Mrs.  Gillespie,  I 
am  sure  will  not  find  fault  with  them  for  it." 

"  That's  an  insinuation,  Mr.  Dundas;  but  look  here,  what  I  am 
bringing  to  Mrs.  Lindsay  in  the  shape  of  a  grand-daughter." 

"  What,  my  old  acquaintance,  Miss  Ellen  ! — is  it  possible  ! — My 
dear  madam,  if  you  had  such  a  treasure  for  sale,  they  would  pour 
half  their  fortune  into  your  lap  to  purchase  it,  and  the  other  half 
at  her  feet." 

"I  would  not  take  it,  Mr.  Dundas." 

^  It  would  be  no  mean  price,  I  assure  you,  in  itself,  however  it 
might  be  comparatively.  I  give  Miss  Ellen  joy." 

Miss  Ellen  took  none  of  his  giving. 

"  Ah,  Ellen,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie  when  he  was  gone,— 
"  we  shall  never  have  you  back  in  America  again.  I  give  up  all 
hopes  of  it.  Why  do  you  look  so  solemn,  my  love  ?  You  are  a 
strange  'child ;  most  girls  would  be  delighted  at  such  a  prospect 
opening  before  them." 

"  You  forget  what  I  leave,  Mrs.  Gillespie." 

"  So  will  you,  my  love,  in  a  few  days ;  though  I  love  you  for  re 
membering  so  well  those  that  have  been  kind  to  you.  But  you 
don't  realize  yet  what  is  before  you." 

"Why  you'll  have  a  good  time,  Ellen,"  said  Marianne :— « I 
wonder  you  are  not  out  of  your  wits  with  joy.  /should  be." 


500  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  You  may  as  well  make  over  the  Brownie  to  me,  Ellen,"  said 
William  ; — "  I  expect  you'll  never  want  him  again." 

"  I  cannot,  you  know,  William ;  I  lent  him  to  Ellen  Chauncey." 
"Lent  him  ! — that's  a  good  one.  For  how  long?" 
Ellen  smiled,  though  sighing  inwardly  to  see  how  very  much 
narrowed  was  her  prospect  of  ever  mounting  him  again.  She  did 
not  care  to  explain  herself  to  those  around  her.  Still,  at  the  very 
bottom  of  her  heart  lay  two  thoughts,  in  which  her  hope  refuged 
itself.  One  was  a  peculiar  assurance  that  whatever  her  brother 
pleased,  nothing  could  hinder  him  from  accomplishing  ;  the  other, 
a  like  confidence  that  it  would  not  please  him  to  leave  his  little  sis 
ter  unlooked-after.  But  all  began  to  grow  misty,  and  it  seemed  now 
as  if  Scotland  must  henceforth  be  the  limit  of  her  horizon. 

Leaving  their  children  at  a  relation's  house,  Major  and  Mrs. 
Gillespie  accompanied  her  to  the  north.  They  travelled  post, 
and  arriving  in  the  evening  at  Edinburgh,  put  up  at  a  hotel  in 
Prince' s-street.  It  was  agreed  that  Ellen  should  not  seek  her  new 
home  till  the  morrow  ;  she  should  eat  one  more  supper  and  breakfast 
with  her  old  friends,  and  have  a  night's  rest  first.  She  was  very 
glad  of  it.  The  major  and  Mrs.  Gillespie  were  enchanted  with  the 
noble  view  from  their  parlour  windows  ;  while  they  were  eagerly 
conversing  together,  Ellen  sat  alone  at  the  other  window,  looking 
out  upon  the  curious  Old  Town.  There  was  all  the  fascination  of 
novelty  and  beauty  about  that  singular  picturesque  mass  of  build 
ings,  in  its  sober  colouring,  growing  more  sober  as  the  twilight  fell ; 
and  just  before  outlines  were  lost  in  the  dusk,  lights  began  feebly 
to  twinkle  here  and  there,  and  grew  brighter  and  more  as  the  night 
came  on,  till  their  brilliant  multitude  were  all  that  could  be  seen 
where  the  curious  jumble  of  chimneys  and  house-tops  and  crooked 
ways  had  shown  a  little  before.  Ellen  sat  watching  this  lighting 
up  of  the  Old  Town,  feeling  strangely  that  she  was  in  the  midst 
of  new  scenes  indeed,  entering  upon  a  new  stage  of  life ;  and 
having  some  difficulty  to  persuade  herself  that  she  was  really 
Ellen  Montgomery.  The  scene  of  extreme  beauty  before  her  seemed 
rather  to  increase  the  confusion  and  sadness  of  her  mind.  Happily, 
joyfully,  Ellen  remembered,  as  she  sat  gazing  ever  the  darkening 
city  and  its  brightening  lights,  that  there  was  One  near  her  who 
could  not  change  ;  that  Scotland  was  no  remove  from  him ;  that 
his  providence  as  well  as  his  heaven  was  over  her  there  ;  that  there, 
not  less  than  in  America,  she  was  his  child.  She  rejoiced,  as  she 
sat  in  her  dusky  window,  over  his  words  of  assurance,  "  I  am  the 
good  shepherd,  and  know  my  sheep,  and  am  known  of  mine  ;"  and 
she  looked  up  into  the  clear  sky  (that  at  least  was  home-like),  in 
tearful  thankfulness,  and  with  earnest  prayer  that  she  might  be 
kept  from  evil.  Ellen  guessed  she  might  have  special  need  to  offer 
that  prayer.  And  as  again  her  eye  wandered  over  the  singula~ 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  501 

bright  spectacle  that  kept  reminding  her  she  was  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  place,  her  heart  joyfully  leaned  upon  another  loved  sentence, 
— "  This  God  is  our  God  for  ever  and  ever;  he  will  be  our  guide 
even  unto  death." 

She  was  called  from  her  window  to  supper. 

"  Why  how  well  you  look,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie ;  "I  expected 
you  would  have  been  half  tired  to  death.  Doesn't  she  look 
well  ?" 

"  As  if  she  was  neither  tired,  hungry,  nor  sleepy,"  said  Major 
Gillespie  kindly  ; — "  and  yet  she  must  be  all  three." 

Ellen  was  all  three.     But  she  had  the  rest  of  a  quiet  mind. 

In  the  same  quiet  mind,  a  little  fluttered  and  anxious  now,  she 
set  out  in  the  post-chaise  the  next  morning  with  her  kind  friends 
to  No.  —  Georges-street.  It  was  their  intention,  after  leaving  her, 
to  go  straight  on  to  England.  They  were  in  a  hurry  to  be  there  ; 
and  Mrs.  Gillespie  judged  that  the  presence  of  a  stranger  at  the 
meeting  between  Ellen  and  her  relations  would  be  desired  by  none 
of  the  parties.  But  when  they  reached  the  house  they  found  the 
family  were  not  at  home ;  they  were  in  the  country — at  their  place 
on  the  Tyne.  The  direction  was  obtained,  and  the  horses'  heads 
turned  that  way.  After  a  drive  of  some  length,  through  what 
kind  of  a  country  Ellen  could  hardly  have  told,  they  arrived  at 
the  place. 

It  was  beautifully  situated  ;  and  through  well-kept  grounds  they 
drove  up  to  a  large,  rather  old-fashioned,  substantial-looking  house. 
"The  ladies  were  at  home;"  and  that  ascertained,  Ellen  took  a 
kind  leave  of  Mrs.  Gillespie,  shook  hands  with  the  major  at  the 
door,  and  was  left  alone  for  the  second  time  in  her  life,  to  make 
her  acquaintance  with  new  and  untried  friends.  She  stood  for  one 
second  looking  after  the  retreating  carriage, — one  swift  thought 
went  to  her  adopted  father  and  brother  far  away, — one  to  her  Friend 
in  heaven, — and  Ellen  quietly  turned  to  the  servant  and  asked  for 
Mrs.  Lindsay. 

She  was  shown  into  a  large  room  where  nobody  was,  and  sat 
down  with  a  beating  heart  while  the  servant  went  up  stairs  ;  looking 
with  a  strange  feeling  upon  what  was  to  be  her  future  home.  The 
house  was  handsome,  comfortably,  luxuriously  furnished ;  but 
without  any  attempt  at  display.  Things  rather  old-fashioned  than 
otherwise ;  plain,  even  homely  in  some  instances ;  yet  evidently 
there  was  no  sparing  of  money  in  any  line  of  use  or  comfort ;  nor 
were  reading  and  writing,  painting  and  music,  strangers  there. 
Unconsciously  acting  upon  her  brother's  principle  of  judging  of 
people  from  their  works,  Ellen,  from  what  she  saw  gathered  around 
her,  formed  a  favourable  opinion  of  her  relations  ;  without  thinking 
of  it,  for  indeed  she  was  thinking  of  something  else. 

A  lady  presently  entered,  and  said  that  Mrs.  Lindsay  was  not 


502  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

very  well.  Seeing  Ellen's  very  hesitating  look,  she  added,  "shall 
I  carry  her  any  message  for  you  ?" 

This  lady  was  well-looking  and  well-dressed  ;  but  somehow  there 
was  something  in  her  face  or  manner  that  encouraged  Ellen  to  an 
explanation  ;  she  could  make  none.  She  silently  gave  her  her 
father's  letter,  with  which  the  lady  left  the  room. 

In  a  minute  or  two  she  returned  and  said  her  mother  would  see 
Ellen  up  stairs,  and  asked  her  to  come  with  her.  This  then  must 
be  Lady  Keith  ! — but  no  sign  of  recognition  ?  Ellen  wondered, 
as  her  trembling  feet  carried  her  up  stairs,  and  to  the  door  of  a 
room  where  the  lady  motioned  her  to  enter ;  sho  did  not  follow 
herself. 

A  large  pleasant  dressing-room ;  but  Ellen  saw  nothing  but  the 
dignified  figure  and  searching  glance  of  a  lady  in  black,  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  At  the  look  which  instantly  followed 
her  entering,  however,  Ellen  sprang  forward,  and  was  received  in 
arms  that  folded  her  as  fondly  and  as  closely  as  ever  those  of  her 
own  mother  had  done.  Without  releasing  her  from  their  clasp, 
Mrs.  Lindsay  presently  sat  down ;  and  placing  Ellen  on  her  lap, 
and  for  a  long  time  without  speaking  a  word,  she  overwhelmed  her 
with  caresses, — caresses  often  interrupted  with  passionate  bursts 
of  tears.  Ellen  herself  cried  heartily  for  company,  though  Mrs. 
Lindsay  little  guessed  why.  Along  with  the  joy  and  tenderness 
arising  from  the  finding  a  relation  that  so  much  loved  and  valued 
her,  and  along  with  the  sympathy  that  entered  into  Mrs.  Lindsay's 
thoughts,  there  mixed  other  feelings.  She  began  to  know,  as  if 
by  instinct,  what  kind  of  a  person  her  grandmother  was.  The 
clasp  of  the  arms  that  were  about  her  said  as  plainly  as  possible, 
"  I  will  never  let  you  go  !"  Ellen  felt  it ;  she  did  not  know  in  her 
confusion  whether  she  was  most  glad  or  most  sorry ;  and  this  un 
certainty  mightily  helped  the  flow  of  her  tears. 

When  this  scene  had  lasted  some  time  Mrs.  Lindsay  began  with 
the  utmost  tenderness  to  take  off  Ellen's  gloves,  her  cape  (her 
bonnet  had  been  hastily  thrown  off  long  before),  and  smoothing 
back  her  hair,  and  taking  the  fair  little  face  in  both  her  hands,  she 
looked  at  it  and  pressed  it  to  her  own,  as  indeed  something  most 
dearly  prized  and  valued.  Then  saying,  "  I  must  lie  down  ;  come 
in  here,  love," — she  led  her  into  the  next  room,  locked  the  door, 
made  Ellen  stretch  herself  on  the  bed ;  and  placing  herself  -beside 
her  drew  her  close  to  her  bosom  again,  murmuring,  "  My  own 
child — my  precious  child — my  Ellen — my  own  darling — why  did 
you  stay  away  so  long  from  me? — tell  me  ?" 

It  was  necessary  to  tell ;  and  this  could  not  be  done  without  re 
vealing  Miss  Fortune's  disgraceful  conduct.  Ellen  was  sorry  for 
that ;  she  knew  her  mother's  American  match  had  been  unpopular 
with  her  friends ;  and  now  what  notions  this  must  give  them  of 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  503 

one  at  least  of  the  near  connections  to  whom  it  had  introduced 
her.  She  winced  under  what  might  be  her  grandmother's 
thoughts.  Mrs.  Lindsay  heard  her  in  absolute  silence,  and  made 
no  comment ;  and  at  the  end  again  kissed  her  lips  and  cheeks, 
embracing  her,  Ellen  felt,  as  a  recovered  treasure  that  would  not 
be  parted  with.  She  was  not  satisfied  till  she  had  drawn  Ellen's 
head  fairly  to  rest  on  her  breast,  and  then  her  caressing  hand  often 
touched  her  cheek,  or  smoothed  back  her  hair,  softly  now  and  then 
asking  slight  questions  about  her  voyage  and  journey;  till  ex 
hausted  from  excitement  more  than  fatigue  Ellen  fell  asleep. 

Her  grandmother  was  beside  her  when  she  awoke,  and  busied 
herself  with  evident  delight  in  helping  her  to  get  off  her  travelling 
clothes  and  put  on  others ;  and  then  she  took  her  down  stairs  and 
presented  her  to  her  aunt. 

Lady  Keith  had  riot  been  at  home,  nor  in  Scotland,  at  the  time 
the  letters  passed  between  Mrs.  Montgomery  and  her  mother  ;  and 
the  result  of  that  correspondence,  respecting  Ellen,  had  been 
known  to  no  one  except  Mrs,  Lindsay  and  her  son.  They  had 
long  given  her  up  ;  the  rather  as  they  had  seen  in  the  papers  the 
name  of  Captain  Montgomery  among  those  lost  in  the  ill-tated 
Due  d' Orleans.  Lady  Keith  therefore  had  no  suspicion  who  Ellen 
might  be.  She  received  her  affectionately,  but  Ellen  did  not  get 
rid  of  her  first  impression. 

Her  uncle  she  did  not  see  until  late  in  the  day,  when  he  came 
home.  The  evening  was  extremely  fair,  and  having  obtained  per 
mission,  Ellen  wandered  out  into  the  shrubbery ;  glad  to  be  alone, 
and  glad  for  a  moment  to  exchange  new  faces  for  old ;  the  flowers 
were  old  friends  to  her,  and  never  had  looked  more  friendly  tfran 
then.  New  and  old  both  were  there.  Ellen  went  on  softly  from 
flower-bed  to  flower-bed,  soothed  and  rested,  stopping  here  to  smell 
one,  or  there  to  gaze  at  some  old  favourite  or  new  beauty,  thinking 
curious  thoughts  of  the  past  and  the  future,  and  through  it  all 
taking  a  quiet  lesson  from  the  flowers ; — when  a  servant  came  after 
her  with  a  request  from  Mrs.  Lindsay  that  she  would  return  to  the 
house.  Ellen  hurried  in ;  she  guessed  for  what,  and  was  sure  as 
soon  as  she  opened  the  door  and  saw  the  figure  of  a  gentleman 
sitting  before  Mrs.  Lindsay.  Ellen  remembered  well  she  was  sent 
to  her  uncle  as  well  as  her  grandmother,  and  she  came  forward 
with  a  beating  heart  to  Mrs.  Lindsay's  outstretched  hand,  which 
presented  her  to  this  other  ruler  of  her  destiny.  He  was  very 
different  from  Lady  Keith, — her  anxious  glance  saw  that  at  once — 
more  like  his  mother.  A  man  not  far  from  fifty  years  old ;  fine- 
looking  and  stately  like  her.  Ellen  was  not  left  long  in  suspense ; 
his  look  instantly  softened  as  his  mother's  had  done ;  he  drew  her 
to  his  arms  with  great  affection,  and  evidently  with  very  great 
pleasure  ;  then  held  her  off  for  a  moment  while  he  looked  at  her 


504  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

changing  colour  and  downcast  eye,  and  folded  her  close  in  his  arms 
again,  from  which  he  seemed  hardly  willing  to  let  her  go,  whisper 
ing  as  he  kissed  her,  "  you  are  my  own  child  now, — you  are  my 
little  daughter, — do  you  know  that,  Ellen?  I  am  your  father 
henceforth ; — you  belong  to  me  entirely,  and  I  belong  to  you ; — my 
own  little  daughter  !" 

"  I  wonder  how  many  times  one  maybe  adopted,"  thought  Ellen 
that  evening  ; — "  but  to  be  sure,  my  father  and  my  mother  have 
quite  given  me  up  here, — that  makes  a  difference  ;  they  had  a 
right  to  give  me  away  if  they  pleased.  I  suppose  I  do  belong  to 
my  uncle  and  grandmother  in  good  earnest,  and  I  cannot  help  my 
self.  Well !  but  Mr.  Humphreys  seems  a  great  deal  more  like  my 
father  than  my  uncle  Lindsay.  I  cannot  help  that — but  how  they 
would  be  vexed  if  they  knew  it?" 

That  was  profoundly  true  ! 

Ellen  was  in  a  few  days  the  dear  pet  and  darling  of  the  whole 
household,  without  exception  and  almost  without  limit.  At  first, 
for  a  day  or  two,  there  was  a  little  lurking  doubt,  a  little  anxiety, 
a  constant  watch,  on  the  part  of  all  her  friends,  whether  they  were 
not  going  to  find  something  in  their  newly  acquired  treasure  to 
disappoint  them ;  whether  it  could  be  that  there  was  nothing  be 
hind  to  belie  the  first  promise.  Less  keen  observers,  however, 
could  not  have  failed  to  see  very  soon  that  there  was  no  disap 
pointment  to  be  looked  for  ;  Ellen  was  just  what  she  seemed,  with 
out  the  shadow  of  a  cloak  in  any  thing.  Doubts  vanished ;  and 
Ellen  had  not  been  three  days  in  the  house  when  she  was  taken 
home  to  two  hearts  at  least  in  unbounded  love  and  tenderness. 
When  Mr.  Lindsay  was  present  he  was  not  satisfied  without  hav 
ing  Ellen  in  his  arms  or  close  beside  him  ;  and  if  not  there  she  was 
at  the  side  of  her  grandmother. 

There  was  nothing,  however,  in  the  character  of  this  fondness, 
great  as  it  was,  that  would  have  inclined  any  child  to  presume 
upon  it.  Ellen  was  least  of  all  likely  to  try  ;  but  if  her  will,  by 
any  chance,  had  run  counter  to  theirs,  she  would  have  found  it 
impossible  to  maintain  her  ground.  She  understood  this  from  the 
first  with  her  grandmother ;  and  in  one  or  two  trifles  since  had 
been  more  and  more  confirmed  in  the  feeling  that  they  would  do 
with  her  and  make  of  her  precisely  what  they  pleased,  without  the 
smallest  regard  to  her  fancy.  If  it  jumped  with  theirs,  very  well ; 
if  not,  it  must  yield.  In  one  matter  Ellen  had  been  roused  to 
plead  very  hard,  and  even  with  tears,  to  have  her  wish,  which  she 
verily  thought  she  ought  to  have  had.  Mrs.  Lindsay  smiled  and 
kissed  her,  and  went  on  with  the  utmost  coolness  in  what  she  was 
doing,  which  she  carried  through,  without  in  the  least  regarding 
Ellen's  distress  or  showing  the  slightest  discomposure  ;  and  the 
same  thing  was  repeated  every  day,  till  Ellen  got  used  to  it.  Her 


THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  505 

•* 

uncle  she  had  never  seen  tried ;  but  she  knew  it  would  be  the 
same  with  him.  When  Mr.  Lindsay  clasped  her  to  his  bosom 
Ellen  felt  it  was  as  his  own  ;  his  eye  always  seemed  to  repeat,  "  my 
own  little  daughter;"  and  in  his  whole  manner  love  was  mingled 
with  as  much  authority.  Perhaps  Ellen  did  not  like  them  much 
the  worse  for  this,  as  she  had  no  sort  of  disposition  to  displease 
them  in  any  thing ;  but  it  gave  rise  to  sundry  thoughts  however, 
which  she  kept  to  herself ;  thoughts  that  went  both  to  the  future 
and  the  past. 

Lady  Keith,  it  may  be,  had  less  heart  to  give  than  her  mother 
and  brother,  but  pride  took  up  the  matter  instead  ;  and  according 
to  her  measure  Ellen  held  with  her  the  same  place  she  held  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lindsay ;  being  the  great  delight  and  darling  of  all 
three  t  and  with  all  three,  seemingly,  the  great  object  in  life. 

A  few  days  after  her  arrival,  a  week  or  more,  she  underwent  one 
evening  a  kind  of  catechising  from  her  aunt,  as  to  her  former  man 
ner  of  life  ; — where  she  had  been  and  with  whom  since  her  mother 
left  her ;  what  she  had  been  doing ;  whether  she  had  been  to  school, 
and  how  her  time  was  spent  at  home,  &c.,  &c.  No  comments  what 
ever  were  made  on  her  answers,  but  a  something  in  her  aunt's  face 
and  manner  induced  Ellen  to  make  her  replies  as  brief  and  to  give 
her  as  little  information  in  them  as  she  could.  She  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  enlarge  upon  any  thing,  or  to  go  at  all  further  than  the 
questions  obliged  her  ;  and  Lady  Keith  ended  without  having  more 
than  a  very  general  notion  of  Ellen's  way  of  life  for  three  or  four 
years  past.  This  conversation  was  repeated  to  her  grandmother 
and  uncle. 

"To  think/'  said  the  latter  the  next  morning  at  breakfast, — 
"to  think  that  the  backwoods  of  America  should  have  turned  us 
out  such  a  little  specimen  of " 

"  Of  what,  uncle  ?"  said  Ellen,  laughing. 

"  Ah,  I  shall  not  tell  you  that,"  said  he. 

"  But  it  is  extraordinary,"  said  Lady  Keith, — "  how  after  living 
among  a  parcel  of  thick-headed  and  thicker-tongued  Yankees  she 
could  come  out  and  speak  pure  English  in  a  clear  voice  ; — it  is  an 
enigma  to  me." 

"Take  care,  Catherine,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  laughing, — "you  are 
touching  Ellen's  nationality; — look  here,"  said  he,  drawing  his 
fingers  down  her  cheek. 

'jShe  must  learn  to  have  no  nationality  but  yours,"  said  Lady 
Keith  somewhat  shortly. 

Ellen's  lips  were  open,  but  she  spoke  not. 

"  It  is  well  you  have  come  out  from  the  Americans,  you  see, 
Ellen,"  pursued  Mr.  Lindsay  ; — "  your  aunt  does  not  like  them  " 

"But  why,  sir?" 

"Why,"  said  he  gravely,— "  don*  t  you  know  that  they  are  a 
w  43 


506  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

parcel  of  rebels  who  have  broken  loose  from  all  loyalty  and  fealty, 
that  no  good  Briton  has  any  business  to  like?" 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest,  uncle?" 

"  You  are,  I  see,"  said  he,  looking  amused.  "  Are  you  one  of 
those  that  make  a  saint  of  George  Washington?" 

"No,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  think  he  was  a  great  deal  better  than 
some  saints.  But  I  don't  think  the  Americans  were  rebels." 

u  You  are  a  little  rebel  yourself.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think 
the  Americans  were  right?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  they  were  wrong,  uncle  ?" 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  he,  "  if  I  had  been  in  the  English  army  I 
would  have  fought  them  with  all  my  heart." 

"  And  if  I  had  been  in  the  American  army  I  would  have  fought 
you  with  all  my  heart,  uncle  Lindsay." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he  laughing  ; — "you  fight !  you  don't  look 
as  if  you  would  do  battle  with  a  good-sized  mosquito." 

"  Ah,  but  I  mean  if  I  had  been  a  man,"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  had  better  put  in  that  qualification.  After  all,  I  am  in 
clined  to  think  it  may  be  as  well  for  you  on  the  whole  that  we  did 
not  meet.  I  don't  know  but  we  might  have  had  a  pretty  stiff  en 
counter,  though." 

"  A  good  cause  is  stronger  than  a  bad  one,  uncle." 

"But  Ellen, — these  Americans  forfeited  entirely  the  character 
of  good  friends  to  England  and  good  subjects  to  King  George." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  King  George's  fault,  uncle  ;  he  and  the  Eng 
lish  forfeited  their  characters  first." 

"I  declare,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  laughing,  " if  your  sword  had 
been  as  stout  as  your  tongue,  I  don't  know  how  I  might  have  come 
off  in  that  same  encounter." 

"I  hope  Ellen  will  get  rid  of  these  strange  notions  about  the 
Americans,"  said  Lady  Keith  discontentedly. 

"  I  hope  not,  aunt  Keith,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Where  did  you  get  them  ?"   said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"What,  sir?" 

"  These  notions."     . 

"  In  reading,  sir  ;  reading  different  books  ; — and  talking." 

"  Reading! — So  you  did  read  in  the  backwoods?" 

"  Sir !"   said  Ellen,  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  What  have  you  read  on  this  subject?" 

"  Two  lives  of  Washington,  and  some  in  the  Annual  Register, 
and  part  of  Graham's  United  States;  and  one  or  two  other  little 
things." 

"  But  those  gave  you  only  one  side,  Ellen  ;  you  should  read  the 
English  account  of  the  matter." 

"  So  I  did,  sir;  the  Annual  Register  gave  me  both  sides  ;  the 
bills  and  messages  were  enough." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  507 

"What  Annual  Register?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir; — it  is  English; — written  by  Burke,  I 
believe." 

"  Upon  my  word  !     And  what  else  have  you  read  ?" 

"  I  think  that's  all  about  America,"  said  Ellen. 

"  No,  but  about  other  things?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Ellen  smiling; — "a  great  many 
books; — I  can't  tell  them  all." 

"  Did  you  spend  all  your  time  over  your  books?" 

"  A  good  deal,  sir,  lately  ; — not  so  much  before." 

"  How  was  that?" 

"  I  couldn't,  sir.     I  had  a  great  many  other  things  to  do." 

"  What  else  had  you  to  do  ?" 

"Different  things,"  said  Ellen,  hesitating  from  the  remem 
brance  of  her  aunt's  manner  the  night  before. 

"  Come,  come  !  answer  me." 

"  I  had  to  sweep  and  dust,"  said  Ellen  colouring, — "  and  set 
tables, — and  wash  and  wipe  dishes, — and  churn, — and  spin, — 
and " 

Ellen  heard  Lady  Keith's  look  in  her,  "  Could  you  have  con 
ceived  it !" 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  her?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  ; — "  send  her 
to  school  or  keep  her  at  home?" 

"  Have  you  never  been  to  school,  Ellen?" 

"No,  sir;  except  for  a  very  little  while,  more  than  three  years 
ago." 

"  Would  you  like  it?" 

"  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  study  at  home,  sir, — if  you  will  let 
me." 

"  What  do  you  know  now  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't  tell,  sir,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  don't  know  any  thing 
very  well, — unless " 

"Unless  what?"  said  her  uncle  laughing; — "come!  now  for 
your  accomplishments." 

"  I  had  rather  not  say  what  I  was  going  to,  uncle  ;  please  don't 
ask  me." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  he;— "I  shan't  let  you  off.  Unless 
what?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  unless  riding,"  said  Ellen  colouring. 

"  Riding ! — And  pray  how  did  you  learn  to  ride  ?  Catch  a 
horse  by  the  mane  and  mount  him  by  the  fence  and  canter  off 
bare-backed?  was  that  it?  eh?" 

"  Not  exactly,  sir,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  Well,  but  about  your  other  accomplishments.  You  do  not 
know  any  thing  of  French,  I  suppose?" 

"  Yes  I  do,  sir." 


508  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that?" 

"  An  old  Swiss  lady  in  the  mountains  taught  me." 

"  Country  riding  and  Swiss  French,"  muttered  her  uncle. 

"  Did  she  teach  you  to  speak  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Lindsay  and  his  mother  exchanged  glances,  which  Ellen 
interpreted,  "Worse  and  worse." 

"  One  thing  at  least  can  be  mended,"  observed  Mr.  Lindsay. 
"  She  shall  go  to  De  Courcy's  riding-school  as  soon  as  we  get  to 
Edinburgh." 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  I  don't  think  that  will  be  necessary." 

"  Who  taught  you  to  ride,  Ellen  ?"  asked  Lady  Keith. 

"My  brother." 

"  Humph ! — I  fancy  a  few  lessons  will  do  you  no  harm,"  she 
remarked. 

Ellen  coloured  and  was  silent. 

"  You  know  nothing  of  music,  of  course  ?" 

"  I  cannot  play,  uncle." 

"Can  you  sing?" 

"  I  can  sing  hymns." 

"  Sing  hymns  !  That's  the  only  fault  I  find  with  you,  Ellen, — 
you  are  too  sober.  I  should  like  to  see  you  a  little  more  gay, — 
like  other  children." 

"  But  uncle,  I  am  not  unhappy  because  I  am  sober." 

"  But  I  am,"  said  he.  "  I  do  not  know  precisely  what  I  shall 
do  with  you  ;  I  must  do  something  !" 

"  Can  you  sing  nothing  but  hymns?"  asked  Lady  Keith. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  with  some  humour  twinkling  about 
her  eyes  and  mouth, — "  I  can  sing  '  Hail  Columbia  !'  " 

"  Absurd  !"  said  Lady  Keith. 

"  Why,  Ellen,"  said  her  uncle  laughing, — "  I  did  not  know  you 
could  be  so  stubborn ;  I  thought  you  were  made  up  of  gentleness 
and  mildness.  Let  me  have  a  good  look  at  you, — there's  not  much 
stubbornness  in  those  eyes,"  he  said  fondly. 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  salute  my  ears  with  your  American 
ditty,"  said  Lady  Keith. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "  she  shall  sing  what  she  pleases, 
and  the  more  the  better." 

"  She  has  a  very  sweet  voice,"  said  her  grandmother. 

"  Yes,  in  speaking,  I  know ;  I  have  not  heard  it  tried  otherwise  ; 
and  very  nice  English  it  turns  out.  Where  did  you  get  your  Eng 
lish,  "Ellen  ?" 

"  From  my  brother,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure. 

Mr.  Lindsay's  brow  rather  clouded. 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"  The  brother  of  the  lady  that  was  so  kind  to  me."     Ellen  dis- 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  509 

liked  to  speak  the  loved  names  in  the  hearing  of  ears  to  which  she 
knew  they  would  be  unlovely. 

"  How  was  she  so  kind  to  you?" 

"Oh,  sir! — in  every  thing — I  cannot  tell  you; — she  was  my 
friend  when  I  had  only  one  beside ;  she  did  every  thing  for  me." 

"  And  who  was  the  other  friend?  your  aunt  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"This  brother?" 

"  No,  sir ;  that  was  before  I  knew  him." 

«  Who  then  ?" 

"  His  name  was  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

"  Van  Brunt ! — Humph  ! — And  what  was  he?" 

11  He  was  a  farmer,  sir." 

"  A  Dutch  farmer,  eh  ?  how  came  you  to  have  any  thing  to  do 
with  him?" 

"He  managed  my  aunt's  farm,  and  was  a  great  deal  in  the 
house." 

"  He  was  !    And  what  makes  you  call  this  other  your  brother  ?" 

"  His  sister  called  me  her  sister — and  that  makes  me  his." 

"  It  is  very  absurd,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  when  they  are  nothing 
at  all  to  her,  and  ought  not  to  be." 

"It  seems  then  you  did  not  find  a  friend  in  your  aunt,  Ellen? 
—eh?" 

"  I  don't  think  she  loved  me  much,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  I  am  very  glad  we  are  clear  of  obligation  on  her  score,"  said 
Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  Obligation  ! — And  so  you  had  nothing  else  to  depend  on,  Ellen, 
but  this  man — this  Van  something — this  Dutchman  ?  what  did  he 
do  for  you  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,  sir  ;" — Ellen  would  have  said  more,  but  a  feeling 
in  her  throat  stopped  her. 

"  Now  just  hear  that,  will  you  ?"  said  Lady  Keith.  "  Just  think 
of  her  in  that  farm-house,  with  that  sweeping  and  dusting  woman 
and  a  Dutch  farmer,  for  these  three  years !" 

"No,"  said  Ellen, — "not  all  the  time;  this  last  year  I  have 
been, " 

"  Where,  Ellen  ?" 

"  At  the  other  house,  sir." 

"What  house  is  that?" 

"  Where  that  lady  and  gentleman  lived  that  were  my  best 
friends." 

'  Well  it's  all  very  well,"  said  Lady  Keith,—"  but  it  is  past 
now ;  it  is  all  over ;  you  need  not  think  of  them  any  more.  We 
will  find  you  better  friends  than  any  of  these  Dutch  Brunters  or 
Grunters." 

43* 


5,10  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Oh,  aunt  Keith  !"  said  Ellen,—"  if  you  knew"— But  she  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  taking  her  into  his  arms, — "  I 
will  not  have  that.  Hush,  my  daughter.  What  is  the  matter, 
Ellen  ?" 

But  Ellen  had  with  some  difficulty  contained  herself  two  or 
three  times  before  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  and  she  wept 
now  rather  violently. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Because,"  sobbed  Ellen,  thoroughly  roused, — "  I  love  them 
dearly  !  and  I  ought  to  love  them  with  all  my  heart.  I  cannot 
forget  them,  and  never  shall ;  and  I  can  never  have  better  friends 
— never  ! — it's  impossible — oh,  it's  impossible." 

Mr.  Lindsay  said  nothing  at  first  except  to  soothe  her ;  but  when 
she  had  wept  herself  into  quietness  upon  his  breast,  he  whispered, 

"  It  is  right  to  love  these  people  if  they  were  kind  to  you,  but 
as  your  aunt  says,  that  is  past.  It  is  not  necessary  to  go  back  to 
it.  Forget  that  you  were  American,  Ellen, — you  belong  to  inc ; 
your  name  is  not  Montgomery  any  more, — it  is  Lindsay ; — and  I 
will  not  have  you  call  me  '  uncle' — I  am  your  father ; — you  are  my 
own  little  daughter,  and  must  do  precisely  what  I  tell  you.  Do 
you  understand  me  ?" 

He  would  have  a  "  yes"  from  her,  and  then  added,  "  Go  and 
get  yourself  ready  and  I  will  take  you  with  me  to  Edinburgh." 

Ellen's  tears  had  been  like  to  burst  forth  again  at  his  words ; 
with  great  effort  she  controlled  herself  and  obeyed  him. 

"  I  shall  do  precisely  what  he  tells  me  of  course,"  she  said  to 
herself  as  she  went  to  get  ready  ; — "  but  there  are  some  things  he 
cannot  command ;  nor  I  neither ; — I  am  glad  of  that !  Forget 
indeed!" 

She  could  not  help  loving  her  uncle  ;  for  the  lips  that  kissed 
her  were  very  kind  as  well  as  very  peremptory  ;  and  if  the  hand 
that  pressed  her  cheek  was,  as  she  felt  it  was,  the  hand  of  power, 
its  touch  was  also  exceeding  fond.  And  as  she  was  no  more 
inclined  to  despite  his  will  than  he  to  permit  it,  the  harmony 
between  them  was  perfect  and  unbroken. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  511 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 

Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  : 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

LONGFELLOW. 

MR.  LINDSAY  had  some  reason  that  morning  to  wish  that  Ellen 
would  look  merrier ;  it  was  a  very  sober  little  face  he  saw  by  his 
side  as  the  carriage  rolled  smoothly  on  with  them  toward  Edin 
burgh  ;  almost  pale  in  its  sadness.  He  lavished  the  tenderest 
kindness  upon  her,  and  without  going  back  by  so  much  as  a  hint 
to  the  subjects  of  the  morning,  he  exerted  himself  to  direct  her 
attention  to  the  various  objects  of  note  and  interest  they  were 
passing.  The  day  was  fine,  and  the  country,  also  the  carriage  and 
the  horses;  Ellen  was  dearly  fond  of  driving;  and  long  before 
they  reached  the  city  Mr.  Lindsay  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
her  smile  break  again,  her  eye  brighten,  and  her  happy  attention 
fixing  on  the  things  he  pointed  out  to  her,  and  many  others  that 
she  found  for  herself  on  the  way, — his  horses  first  of  all.  Mr. 
Lindsay  might  relax  his  efforts  and  look  on  with  secret  triumph ; 
Ellen  was  in  the  full  train  of  delighted  observation. 

"  You  are  easily  pleased,  Ellen,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  one  of 
her  simple  remarks  of  admiration. 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  to  please  me,"  said  Ellen. 

"  What  wou)d  you  like  to  see  in  Edinburgh  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  any  thing  you  please." 

"  Then  I  will  show  you  a  little  of  the  city  in  the  first  place." 

They  drove  through  the  streets  of  Edinburgh,  both  the  Old  and 
the  New  Town,  in  various  directions;  Mr.  Lindsay  extremely 
pleased  to  see  that  Ellen  was  so,  and  much  amused  at  the  curiosity 
shown  in  her  questions,  which  however  were  by  no  means  as  free 
and  frequent  as  they  might  have  been  had  John  Humphreys  filled 
her  uncle's  place. 

"  What  large  building  is  that  over  there?"  said  Ellen. 

"  That?— that  is  Holyrood  House." 

"Holyrood! — I  have  heard  of  that  before; — isn't  that  where 
Queen  Mary's  rooms  are?  where  Rizzio  was  killed?" 

"  Yes ;  would  you  like  to  see  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  much  !" 

"  Drive  to  the  Abbey — So  you  have  read  Scottish  history  as  well 
as  American,  Ellen?" 

"  Not  very  much,  sir ;  only  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather  yet.     But 


512  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

what  made  me  say  that, — I  have  read  an  account  of  Holyrood 
House  somewhere.  Uncle " 

"Ellen!" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir; — I  forgot; — it  seems  strange  to  me," 
said  Ellen,  looking  distressed. 

"  It  must  not  seem  strange  to  you,  my  daughter ;  what  were  you 
going  to  say  ?' ' 

"  I  don't  know,  sir, — Oh,  I  was  going  to  ask  if  the  silver  cross 
is  here  now,  to  be  seen?" 

"  What  silver  cross  ?" 

"  That  one  from  which  the  Abbey  was  named, — the  silver  rood 
that  was  given,  they  pretended,  to — I  forget  now  what  king, — " 

"  David  First,  the  founder  of  the  Abbey  ?  No,  it  is  not  here, 
Ellen  ;  David  the  Second  lost  it  to  the  English.  But  why  do  you 
say  pretended,  Ellen  ?  It  was  a  very  real  affair  ;  kept  in  England 
for  a  long  time  with  great  veneration." 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir ;  I  know  the  cross  was  real ; — I  mean,  it  was  pre 
tended  that  an  angel  gave  it  to  King  David  when  he  was  hunting 
here." 

"Well,  how  can  you  tell  but  that  was  so?  King  David  was 
made  a  saint,  you  know." 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "I  know  better  than  that;  I 
know  it  was  only  a  monkish  trick." 

"  Monkish  trick  !  what  do  you  mean  ?  the  giving  of  the  cross, 
or  the  making  the  king  a  saint  ?" 

"  Both,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  still  smiling. 

"  At  that  rate,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  much  amused,  "  if  you  are 
such  a  skeptic,  you  will  take  no  comfort  in  any  thing  at  the  Abbey, 
— you  will  not  believe  any  thing  is  genuine." 

"  I  will  believe  what  you  tell  me,  sir." 

"Will  you?  I  must  be  careful  what  I  say  to  you  then,  or  I 
may  run  the  risk  of  losing  my  own  credit." 

Mr.  Lindsay  spoke  this  half  jestingly,  half  in  earnest.  They 
went  over  the  palace. 

"  Is  this  very  old,  sir?"  asked  Ellen. 

"  Not  very ;  it  has  been  burnt  and  demolished  and  rebuilt,  till 
nothing  is  left  of  the  old  Abbey  of  King  David  but  the  ruins  of 
the  chapel,  which  you  shall  see  presently.  The  oldest  part  of  the 
House  is  that  we  are  going  to  see  now,  built  by  James  Fifth,  Mary's 
father,  where  her  rooms  are." 

At  these  rooms  Ellen  looked  with  intense  interest.  She  pored 
over  the  old  furniture,  the  needle-work  of  which  she  was  told  was 
at  least  in  part  the  work  of  the  beautiful  Queen's  own  fingers; 
gazed  at  the  stains  in  the  floor  of  the  bed-chamber,  said  to  be  those 
of  Rizzio's  blood ;  meditated  over  the  trap-door  in  the  passage,  by 
which  the  conspirators  had  come  up ;  and  finally  sat  down  in  the 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  513 

room  and  tried  to  realize  the  scene  which  had  once  been  acted  there. 
She  tried  to  imagine  the  poor  Queen  and  her  attendant  and  her 
favourite  Rizzio  sitting  there  at  supper,  and  how  that  door,  that 
very  door, — had  opened,  and  Ruthven's  ghastly  figure,  pale  and 
weak  from  illness,  presented  itself,  and  then  others ;  the  alarm  of 
the  moment ;  how  Rizzio  knew  they  were  come  for  him  and  fled  to 
the  Queen  for  protection ;  how  she  was  withheld  from  giving  it, 
and  the  unhappy  man  pulled  away  from  her  and  stabbed  with  a 
great  many  wounds  before  her  face  ;  and  there,  there  ! — no  doubt, 
—his  blood  fell ! 

"  You  are  tired  ; — this  doesn't  please  you  much,"  said  Mr.  Lind 
say,  noticing  her  grave  look. 

"Oh,  it  pleases  me  very  much?"  said  Ellen,  starting  up; — "  I 
do  not  wonder  she  swore  vengeance." 

"  Who?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  laughing. 

"  Queen  Mary,  sir." 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  her  all  this  while?  I  am  glad  of  it.  I 
spoke  to  you  once  without  getting  a  word.  I  was  afraid  this  was 
not  amusing  e-nough  to  detain  your  thoughts." 

"  Oh,  yes  it  was,"  said  Ellen; — "I  have  been  trying  to  think 
about  all  that.  I  like  to  look  at  old  things  very  much." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  the  Regalia." 

"The  what,  sir?" 

"  The  Royal  things — the  old  diadem  and  sceptre,  &c.,  of  the 
Scottish  kings.  Well  come,"  said  he,  as  he  read  the  answer  in 
Ellen's  face, — "  we  will  go ;  but  first  let  us  see  the  old  chapel." 

With  this  Ellen  was  wonderfully  pleased.  This  was  much  older 
still  than  Queen  Mary's  rooms.  Ellen  admired  the  wild  melan 
choly  look  of  the  gothic  pillars  and  arches  springing  from  the  green 
turf,  the  large  carved  window  empty  of  glass,  the  broken  walls ; — 
and  looking  up  to  the  blue  sky,  she  tried  to  imagine  the  time  when 
the  gothic  roof  closed  overhead,  and  music  sounded  through  the 
arches,  and  trains  of  stoled  monks  paced  through  them,  where 
now  the  very  pavement  was  not.  Strange  it  seemed,  and  hard,  to 
go  back  and  realize  it ;  but  in  the  midst  of  this,  the  familiar  face 
of  the  sky  set  Ellen's  thoughts  off  upon  a  new  track,  and  suddenly 
they  were  at  home, — on  the  lawn  before  the  parsonage.  The 
monks  and  the  abbey  were  forgotten  ;  she  silently  gave  her  hand 
to  her  uncle  and  walked  with  him  to  the  carriage. 

Arrived  at  the  Crown  room,  Ellen  fell  into  another  fit  of  grave 
attention ;  but  Mr.  Lindsay,  taught  better,  did  not  this  time  mis 
take  rapt  interest  for  absence  of  mind.  He  answered  questions 
and  gave  her  several  pieces  of  information,  and  let  her  take  her 
own  time  to  gaze  and  meditate. 

a  This  beautiful  sword,"  said  he,  "was  a  present  from   Pope 
Julius  Second  to  James  Fourth." 
hh 


514  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  the  Popes,"  said  Ellen.  "  James 
Fourth? — I  forget  what  kind  of  a  king  he  was." 

"  He  was  a  very  good  king; — he  was  the  one  that  died  at 
Flodden." 

"  Oh,  and  wore  an  iron  girdle  because  he  had  fought  against  his 
father, — poor  man  !' ' 

"  Why  l  poor  man,'  Ellen  ?  he  was  a  very  royal  prince  ;  why  do 
you  say  '  poor  man  ?'  ' 

"  Because  he  didn't  know  any  better,  sir." 

"  Didn't  know  any  better  than  what  ?" 

"  Than  to  think  an  iron  girdle  would  do  him  any  good." 

"  But  why  wouldn't  it  do  him  any  good?" 

"  Because,  you  know,  sir,  that  is  not  the  way  we  can  have  our 
sins  forgiven." 

"What  is  the  way?" 

Ellen  looked  at  him  to  see  if  he  was  in  jest  or  earnest.  Her 
look  staggered  him  a  little,  but  he  repeated  his  question.  She  cast 
her  eyes  down  and  answered, 

"  Jesus  Christ  said,  <  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life ;  no 
man  cometh  unto  the  Father  but  by  me.'  " 

Mr.  Lindsay  said  no  more. 

"I  wish  that  was  the  Bruce's  crown,"  said  Ellen  after  a  while. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  any  thing  that  belonged  to  him." 

"I'll  take  you  to  the  field  of  Bannockburn  some  day ;  that  be 
longed  to  him  with  a  vengeance.  It  lies  over  yonder." 

"Bannockburn!  will  you?  and  Stirling  castle! — Oh,  how  I 
should  like  that!" 

"  Stirling  castle,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  smiling  at  Ellen's  clasped 
hands  of  delight, — "  what  do  you  know  of  Stirling  castle?" 

"  From  the  history,  you  know,  sir  ;  and  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  ; — 

"Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light " 

"Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  And  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright 
Her  winding  river  lay." 

"  That's  this  same  river  Forth,  Ellen.  Do  you  know  any 
more?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sir." 

"Go  on  and  tell  me  all  you  can  remember." 

"  All ;  that  would  be  a  great  deal,  sir." 

"  Go  on  till  I  tell  you  to  stop." 

Ellen  gave  him  a  good  part  of  the  battle,  with  the  introduction 
to  it. 

"  You  have  a  good  memory,  Ellen,"  he  said,  looking  pleased. 


THE    WIDE,  WIDE    WORLD.  515 

"  Because  I  like  it,  sir ;  that  makes  it  easy  to  remember.  I  like 
the  Scots  people." 

"  Do  you !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  much  gratified  ; — "  I  did  not 
know  you  liked  any  thing  on  this  side  of  the  water.  Why  do  you 
like  them?" 

"  Because  they  never  would  be  conquered  by  the  English." 

"So,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  half  amused  and  half  disappointed, — 
"  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  you  like  them  because  they  fought 
the  enemies  you  were  so  eager  to  have  a  blow  at." 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "  I  do  not  mean  that  at  all ; 
the  French  were  England's  enemies  too,  and  helped  us  besides,  but 
I  like  the  Scots  a  great  deal  better  than  the  French.  I  like  them 
because  they  would  be  free." 

"  You  have  an  extraordinary  taste  for  freedom  !  And  pray,  are 
all  the  American  children  as  strong  republicans  as  yourself?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  I  hope  so." 

"  Pretty  well,  upon  my  word ! — Then  I  suppose  even  the  Bruce 
cannot  rival  your  favourite  Washington  in  your  esteem  ?" 

Ellen  smiled. 

"Eh?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  I  like  Washington  better,  sir,  of  course ;  but  I  like  Bruce  very 
much." 

"  Why  do  you  prefer  Washington  ?" 

"  I  should  have  to  think  to  tell  you  that,  sir." 

"  Very  well,  think,  and  answer  me." 

"One  reason,  I  suppose,  is  because  he  was  an  American,"  said 
Ellen. 

"  That  is  not  reason  enough  for  so  reasonable  a  person  as  you 
are,  Ellen  ;  you  must  try  again,  or  give  up  your  preference." 

"  I  like  Bruce,  very  much  indeed,"  said  Ellen  musingly, — "  but 
he  did  what  he  did  for  himself, — Washington  didn't." 

"  Humph  ! — I  am  not  quite  sure  as  to  either  of  your  positions," 
said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  And  besides,"  said  Ellen,  "  Bruce  did  one  or  two  wrong  things. 
Washington  always  did  right." 

"  He  did,  eh?     What  do  you  think  of  the  murder  of  Andre?" 

"  I  think  it  was  right,"  said  Ellen  firmly. 

"  Your  reasons,  my  little  reasoner?" 

"  If  it  had  not  been  right,  Washington  would  not  have  done 

It. 

"  Ha !  ha  ! — so  at  that  rate  you  may  reconcile  yourself  to  any 
thing  that  chances  to  be  done  by  a  favourite." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  a  little  confused,  but  standing  her  ground, 
— "  but  when  a  person  always  does  right,  if  he  happen  to  do 
something  that  I  don't  know  enough  to  understand,  I  have  good 
reason  to  think  it  is  right,  even  though  I  cannot  understand  it." 


516  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  Very  well !  but  apply  the  same  rule  of  judgment  to  the  Bruce, 
can't  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  could  make  me  think  the  murder  of  the  Red  Comyn 
right,  sir.  Bruce  didn't  think  so  himself." 

"  But  remember,  there  is  a  great  difference  in  the  times ;  those 
were  rude  and  uncivilized  compared  to  these ;  you  must  make  allow 
ance  for  that." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do ;  but  I  like  the  civilized  times  best." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  fellow  over  here, — what's  his  name, 
— whose  monument  I  was  showing  you, — Nelson  !" 

11 1  used  to  like  him  very  much,  sir." 

"  And  you  do  not  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do  ;  I  cannot  help  liking  him." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  would  if  you  could?" 

"  I  don't  think,  sir,  I  ought  to  like  a  man  merely  for  being  great 
unless  he  was  good.  Washington  was  great  and  good  both.*' 

"  Well,  what  is  the  matter  with  Nelson  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  with 
an  expression  of  intense  amusement, — "  I  '  used  to  think,'  as  you 
say,  that  he  was  a  very  noble  fellow." 

"  So  he  was,  sir;  but  he  wasn't  a  good  man." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Why  you  know,  sir,  he  left  his  wife ;  and  Lady  Hamilton  per 
suaded  him  to  do  one  or  two  other  very  dishonourable  things ;  it 
was  a  great  pity  !" 

"  So  you  will  not  like  any  great  man  that  is  not  good  as  well. 
What  is  your  definition  of  a  good  man,  Ellen?" 

"  One  who  always  does  right  because  it  is  right,  no  matter 
whether  it  is  convenient  or  not,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  little  hesitation. 

u  Upon  my  word,  you  draw  the  line  close.  But  opinions  differ 
as  to  what  is  right ;  how  shall  we  know  ?" 

"  From  the  Bible,  sir,"  said  Ellen  quickly,  with  a  look  that  half 
amused  and  half  abashed  him. 

"  And  you,  Ellen, — are  you  yourself  good  after  this  nice 
fashion?" 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  wish  to  be." 

"  I  do  believe  that.  But  after  all,  Ellen,  you  might  like  Nelson  ; 
those  were  only  the  spots  in  the  sun  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  can  a  man  be  a  truly  great  man  who  is  riot 
master  of  himself?" 

"  That  is  an  excellent  remark." 

"  It  is  not  mine,  sir,"  said  Ellen  blushing  ; — "  it  was  told  me  ; 
I  did  not  find  out  all  that  about  Nelson  myself;  I  did  not  see  it 
all  the  first  time  I  read  his  life ;  I  thought  he  was  perfect." 
"  I  know  who  /think  is,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  kissing  her. 

They  drove  now  to  his  house  in  Georges-street.  Mr.  Lindsay 
had  some  business  to  attend  to  and  would  leave  her  there  for  an 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


517 


hour  or  two.  And  that  their  fast  might  not  be  too  long  unbroken, 
Mrs.  Allen  the  housekeeper  was  directed  to  furnish  them  with 
some  biscuits  in  the  library,  whither  Mr.  Lindsay  led  Ellen. 

She  liked  the  looks  of  it  very  much.  Plenty  of  books,  old- 
looking  comfortable  furniture  ;  pleasant  light ;  all  manner  of 
etceteras  around  which  rejoiced  Ellen's  heart.  Mr.  Lindsay  noticed 
her  pleased  glance  passing  from  one  thing  to  another.  He  placed 


her  in  a  deep  easy  chair,  took  off  her  bonnet  and  threw  it  on  the 
sofa,  and  kissing  her  fondly  asked  her  if  she  felt  at  hcaie.  "  Not 
yet,"  Ellen  said ;  but  her  look  said  it  would  not  take  long  to  make 
her  do  so.  She  sat  enjoying  her  rest,  and  munching  her  biscuit 
with  great  appetite  and  satisfaction,  when  Mr.  Lindsay  poured  her 
out  a  glass  of  sweet  wine. 

That  glass  of  wine  looked  to  Ellen  like  an  enemy  marching  up 

44 


518  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

to  attack  her.  Because  Alice  and  John  did  not  drink  it,  she  had 
always,  at  first  without  other  reason,  done  the  same ;  and  she  was 
determined  not  to  forsake  their  example  now.  She  took  no  notice 
of  the  glass  of  wine,  though  she  had  ceased  to  see  any  thing  else 
in  the  room,  and  went  on,  seemingly  as  before,  eating  her  biscuit, 
though  she  no  longer  knew  how  they  tasted. 

"  Why  don't  you  drink  your  wine,  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  any,  sir." 

11  Don't  you  like  it?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  I  have  never  drunk  any." 

"No!     Taste  it  and  see." 

"  I  would  rather  not,  sir,  if  you  please.     I  don't  care  for  it." 

"Taste  it,  Ellen!" 

This  command  was  not  to  be  disobeyed.  The  blood  rushed  to 
Ellen's  temples  as  she  just  touched  the  glass  to  her  lips  and  set  it 
down  again. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

11  What,  sir?" 

"How  do  you  like  it?" 

"  I  like  it  very  well,  sir,  but  I  would  rather  not  drink  it." 

"Why?" 

Ellen  coloured  again  at  this  exceedingly  difficult  question,  and 
answered  as  well  as  she  could,  that  she  had  never  been  accustomed 
to  it,  and  would  rather  not. 

"  It  is  of  no  sort  of  consequence  what  you  have  been  accus 
tomed  to,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay.  "  You  are  to  drink  it  all,  Ellen." 

Ellen  dared  not  disobey.  When  biscuits  and  wine  were  disposed 
of,  Mr.  Lindsay  drew  her  close  to  his  side,  and  encircling  her 
fondly  with  his  arms,  said, 

"  I  shall  leave  you  now  for  an  hour  or  two.  and  you  must  amuse 
yourself  as  you  can.  The  bookcases  are  open — perhaps  you  can 
find  something  there  ;  or  there  are  prints  in  those  portfolios ;  or 
you  can  go  over  the  house  and  make  yourself  acquainted  with 
your  new  home.  If  you  want  any  thing  ask  Mrs.  Allen.  Does  it 
look  pleasant  to  you  ?" 

"Very,"  Ellen  said. 

"  You  are  at  home  here,  daughter ;  go  where  you  will  and  do 
what  you  will.  I  shall  not  leave  you  long.  But  before  I  go — 
Ellen — let  me  hear  you  call  me  father." 

Ellen  obeyed,  trembling,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  to  set 
her  hand  and  seal  to  the  deed  of  gift  her  father  and  mother  had 
made.  But  there  was  no  retreat ;  it  was  spoken  ;  and  Mr.  Lind 
say  folding  her  close  in  his  arms  kissed  her  again  and  again. 

"  Never  let  me  hear  you  call  me  any  thing  else,  Ellen.  You  are 
mine  own  now — my  own  child — my  own  little  daughter.  You 
shall  do  just  what  pleases  me  in  every  thing,  and  let  by-gones  be 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  519 

by-gones.  And  now  lie  down  there  and  rest,  daughter,  you  are 
trembling  from  head  to  foot ; — rest  and  amuse  yourself  in  any  way 
you  like  till  I  return." 

He  left  the  room. 

"  I  have  done  it  now  !"  thought  Ellen,  as  she  sat  in  the  corner 
-of  the  sofa  where  Mr.  Lindsay  had  tenderly  placed  her ; — u  I  have 
called  him  my  father — I  am  bound  to  obey  him  after  this.  I 
wonder  what  in  the  world  they  will  make  me  do  next.  If  he 
chooses  to  make  me  drink  wine  every  day,  I  must  do  it ! — I  cannot 
help  myself.  That  is  only  a  little  matter.  But  what  if  they  were 
to  want  me  to  do  something  wrong  ? — they  might ; — John  never 
did — I  could  not  have  disobeyed  him,  possibly ! — but  I  could 
them,  if  it  was  necessary, — and  if  it  is  necessary,  I  will ! — I 
should  have  a  dreadful  time — I  wonder  if  I  could  go  through  with 
it.  Oh,  yes,  I  could,  if  it  was  right, — and  besides  would  rather 
bear  any  thing  in  the  world  from  them  than  have  John  displeased 
with  me  ; — a  great  deal  rather  !  But  perhaps  after  all  they  will 
not  want  any  thing  wrong  of  me.  I  wonder  if  this  is  really  to  be 
my  home  always,  and  if  I  shall  never  get  home  again  ? — John  will 
not  leave  me  here  ! — but  I  don't  see  how  in  the  world  he  can  help 
it,  for  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  I  myself — I  know  what  he 
would  tell  me  if  he  was  here,  and  I'll  try  to  do  it.  God  will  take 
care  of  me  if  I  follow  him  ;  it  is  none  of  my  business." 

Simply  and  heartily  commending  her  interests  to  his  keeping, 
Ellen  tried  to  lay  aside  the  care  of  herself.  She  went  on  musing ; 
how  very  different  and  how  much  greater  her  enjoyment  would 
have  been  that  day  if  John  had  been  with  her.  Mr.  Lindsay,  to 
be  sure,  had  answered  her  questions  with  abundant  kindness  and 
sufficient  ability  ;  but  his  answers  did  not,  as  those  of  her  brother 
often  did,  skilfully  draw  her  on  from  one  thing  to  another,  till  a 
train  of  thought  was  opened  which  at  the  setting  out  she  never 
dreamed  of;  and  along  with  the  joy  of  acquiring  new  knowledge 
she  had  the  pleasure  of  discovering  new  fields  of  it  to  be  explored, 
and  the  delight  of  the  felt  exercise  and  enlargement  of  her  own 
powers,  which  were  sure  to  be  actively  called  into  play.  Mr. 
Lindsay  told  her  what  she  asked,  and  there  left  her.  Ellen  found 
herself  growing  melancholy  over  the  comparison  she  was  drawing ; 
and  wisely  went  to  the  bookcases  to  divert  her  thoughts.  Finding 
presently  a  history  of  Scotland,  she  took  it  down,  resolving  to  re 
fresh  her  memory  on  a  subject  which  had  gained  such  new  and 
strange  interest  for  her.  Before  long,  however,  fatigue  and  the 
wine  she  had  drunk  effectually  got  the  better  of  studious  thoughts  ; 
she  stretched  herself  on  the  sofa  and  fell  asleep. 

There  Mr.  Lindsay  found  her  a  couple  of  hours  afterwards 
under  the  guard  of  the  housekeeper. 

"  I  cam  in,  sir,"  she  said  whispering, — "it's  mair  than  an  hour 


520  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

back,  and  she's  been  sleeping  just  like  a  baby  ever  syne;  she 
hasna  stirred  a  finger.  Oh,  Mr.  Lindsay,  it's  a  bonny  bairn,  and 
a  gude.  What  a  blessing  to  the  house  !" 

"You're  about  right  there,  I  believe,  Maggie;  but  how  have 
you  learned  it  so  fast?" 

"  I  canna  be  mista'en,  Mr.  George, — I  ken  it  as  weel  as  if  we 
had  a  year  auld  acquentance  ;  I  ken  it  by  thae  sweet  mouth  and 
een,  and  by  the  look  she  gied  me  when  you  tauld  her,  sir,  I  had 
been  in  the  house  near  as  long's  yoursel.  An'  look  at  her  eenow. 
There's  heaven's  peace  within,  I'm  a' maist  assured.1' 

The  kiss  that  wakened  Ellen  found  her  in  the  midst  of  a  dream. 
She  thought  that  John  was  a  king  of  Scotland,  and  standing  be 
fore  her  in  regal  attire.  She  offered  him,  she  thought,  a  glass  of 
wine,  but  raising  the  sword  of  state,  silver  scabbard  and  all,  he 
with  a  tremendous  swing  of  it  dashed  the  glass  out  of  her  hands ; 
and  then  as  she  stood  abashed,  he  went  forward  with  one  of  his 
old  grave  kind  looks  to  kiss  her.  As  the  kiss  touched  her  lips 
Ellen  opened  her  eyes  to  find  her  brother  transformed  into  Mr. 
Lindsay,  and  the  empty  glass  standing  safe  and  sound  upon  the 
table. 

"You  must  have  had  a  pleasant  nap,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "you 
wake  up  smiling.  Come — make  haste — I  have  left  a  friend  in  the 
carriage. — Bring  your  book  along  if  you  want  it." 

The  presence  of  the  stranger,  who  was  going  down  to  spend  a 
day  or  two  at  "  the  Braes,"  prevented  Ellen  from  having  any  talk 
ing  to  do.  Comfortably  placed  in  the  corner  of  the  front  seat  of 
the  barouche,  leaning  on  the  elbow  of  the  carriage,  she  was  left  to 
her  own  musings.  She  could  hardly  realize  the  change  in  her  cir 
cumstances.  The  carriage  rolling  fast  and  smoothly  on — the  two 
gentlemen  opposite  to  her,  one  her  father  ! — the  strange,  varied, 
beautiful  scenes  they  were  flitting  by, — the  long  shadows  made  by 
the  descending  sun, — the  cool  evening  air, — Ellen,  leaning  back  in 
the  wide  easy  seat,  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a  dream.  It  was  singularly 
pleasant;  she  could  not  help  but  enjoy  it  all  very  much;  and  yet 
it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  caught  in  a  net  from  which  she  had 
no  power  to  get  free ;  and  she  longed  to  clasp  that  hand  that  could 
she  thought  draw  her  whence  and  whither  it  pleased.  "  But  Mr. 
Lindsay  opposite? — I  have  called  him  my  father — I  have  given 
myself  to  him,"  she  thought ;— "  but  I  gave  myself  to  somebody 
else  first; — I  can't  undo  that — and  I  never  will!''  Again  she 
tried  to  quiet  and  resign  the  care  of  herself  to  better  wisdom  and 
greater  strength  than  her  own.  "  This  may  all  be  arranged,  easily, 
in  someway  I  could  never  dream  of,"  she  said  to  herself;  "I 
have  no  business  to  be  uneasy.  Two  months  ago,  and  I  was 
quietly  at  home  and  seemed  to  be  fixed  there  for  ever;  and  now, 
and  without  any  thing  extraordinary  happening,  here  I  am,— 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  521 

just  as  fixed.  Yes,  and  before  that,  at  aunt  Fortune's, — it  didn't 
seem  possible  that  I  could  ever  get  away  from  being  her  child ; 
and  yet  how  easily  all  that  was  managed.  And  just  so  in  some 
way  that  I  cannot  imagine,  things  may  open  so  as  to  let  me  out 
smoothly  from  this."  She  resolved  to  be  patient,  and  take  thank 
fully  what  she  at  present  had  to  enjoy ;  and  in  this  mood  of  mind 
the  drive  home  was  beautiful ;  and  the  evening  was  happily  ab 
sorbed  in  the  history  of  Scotland. 

It  was  a  grave  question  in  the  family  that  same  evening 
whether  Ellen  should  be  sent  to  school.  Lady  Keith  was  decided 
in  favour  of  it ;  her  mother  seemed  doubtful ;  Mr.  Lindsay,  who 
had  a  vision  of  the  little  figure  lying  asleep  on  his  library  sofa, 
thought  the  room  had  never  looked  so  cheerful  before,  and  had 
near  made  up  his  mind  that  she  should  be  its  constant  adornment 
the  coming  winter.  Lady  Keith  urged  the  school  plan. 

"  Not  a  boarding-school,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay; — "  I  will  not  hear 
of  that." 

"  No,  but  a  day-school ;  it  would  do  her  a  vast  deal  of  good  I 
am  certain  ;  her  notions  want  shaking  up  very  much.  And  I  never 
saw  a  child  of  her  age  so  much  a  child." 

"I  assure  you  /  never  saw  one  so  much  a  woman.  She  has 
asked  me  to-day,  I  suppose,"  said  he  smiling,  "  a  hundred  questions 
or  less ;  and  I  assure  you  there  was  not  one  foolish  or  vain  one 
among  them ;  not  one  that  was  not  sensible,  and  most  of  them 
singularly  so." 

"  She  was  greatly  pleased  with  her  day,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

li  I  never  saw  such  a  baby  face  in  my  life,"  said  Lady  Keith, — 
"  in_ji  child  of  her  years." 

"  It  is  a  face  of  uncommon  intelligence  !"   said  her  brother. 

"It  is  both,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  was  struck  with  it  the  other  day,"  said  Lady  Keith, — u  the 
day  she  slept  so  long  upon  the  sofa  up  stairs  after  she  was  dressed ; 
she  had  been  crying  about  something,  and  her  eyelashes  were  wet 
still,  and  she  had  that  curious  grave  innocent  look  you  only  see  in 
infants  ;  you  might  have  thought  she  was  fourteen  months  instead 
of  fourteen  years  old ;  fourteen  and  a  half  she  says  she  is." 

"  Crying  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  ; — "  what  was  the  matter?" 

''Nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "  but  that  she  had  been  obliged 
to  submit  to  me  in  something  that  did  not  please  her." 

•'  Did  she  give  you  any  cause  of  displeasure  ?" 

"  No, — though  I  can  see  she  has  strong  passions.  But  she  is 
the  first  child  I  ever  saw  that  I  think  I  could  not  get  angry  with." 

"  Mother's  heart  half  misgave  her,  I  believe,"  said  Lady  Keith 
laughing ; — "  she  sat  there  looking  at  her  for  an  hour." 

"She  seems  to  me  perfectly  gentle  and  submissive,"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay. 

44* 


522  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

u  Yes,  but  don't  trust  too  much  to  appearances,'1  said  his  sister. 
"  If  she  is  not  a  true  Lindsay  after  all  I  am  mistaken.  Did  you 
see  her  colour  once  or  twice  this  morning  when  something  was  said 
that  did  not  please  her  ?" 

"  You  can  judge  nothing  from  that,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "she 
colours  at  every  thing.  You  should  have  seen  her  to-day  when  I 
told  her  I  would  take  her  to  Bannockburn." 

"  Ah,  she  has  got  the  right  side  of  you ;  you  will  be  able  to  dis 
cern  no  faults  in  her  presently." 

"  She  has  used  no  arts  for  it,  sister ;  she  is  a  straightforward 
little  hussy,  and  that  is  one  thing  I  like  about  her ;  though  I  was 
as  near  as  possible  being  provoked  with  her  once  or  twice  to-day. 
There  is  only  one  thing  I  wish  was  altered, — she  has  her  head  filled 
with  strange  notions — absurd  for  a  child  of  her  age — I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  do  to  get  rid  of  them." 

After  some  more  conversation  it  was  decided  that  school  would 
be  the  best  thing  for  this  end,  and  half  decided  that  Ellen  should 

go- 
But  this  half  decision  Mr.  Lindsay  found  it  very  difficult  to  keep 
to,  and  circumstances  soon  destroyed  it  entirely.  Company  was 
constantly  coming  and  going  at  "  the  Braes,"  and  much  of  it  of  a 
kind  that  Ellen  exceedingly  liked  to  see  and  hear ;  intelligent,  cul 
tivated,  well-informed  people,  whose  conversation  was  highly  agree 
able  and  always  useful  to  her.  Ellen  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
talking,  so  she  made  good  use  of  her  ears. 

One  evening  Mr.  Lindsay,  a  M.  Villars,  and  M.  Muller,  a  Swiss 
gentleman  and  a  noted  man  of  science,  very  much  at  home  in  Mr. 
Lindsay's  house,  were  carrying  on,  in  French,  a  conversation  in 
which  the  two  foreigners  took  part  against  their  host.  M.  Villars 
began  with  talking  about  Lafayette ;  from  him  they  went  to  the 
American  Revolution,  and  Washington,  and  from  them  to  other 
patriots  and  other  republics,  ancient  and  modern ; — MM.  Villars 
and  Muller  taking  the  side  of  freedom  and  pressing  Mr.  Lindsay 
hard  with  argument,  authority,  example,  and  historical  testimony. 
Ellen  as  usual  was  fast  by  his  side,  and  delighted  to  see  that  he 
could  by  no  means  make  good  his  ground.  The  ladies  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room  would  several  times  have  drawn  her  away,  but 
happily  for  her,  and  also  as  usual,  Mr.  Lindsay's  arm  was  around 
her  shoulders,  and  she  was  left  in  quiet  to  listen.  The  conversa 
tion  was  very  lively,  and  on  a  subject  very  interesting  to  her;  for 
America  had  been  always  a  darling  theme ;  Scottish  struggles  for 
freedom  were  fresh  in  her  mind ;  her  attention  had  long  ago  been 
called  to  Switzerland  and  its  history  by  Alice  and  Mrs.  Vawse,  and 
French  history  had  formed  a  good  part  of  her  last  winter's  reading. 
She  listened  with  the  most  eager  delight,  too  much  engrossed  to 
notice  the  good-humoured  glances  that  were  every  now  and  then 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  523 

given  her  by  one  of  the  speakers.  Not  Mr.  Lindsay  ;— though  his 
hand  was  upon  her  shoulder  or  playing  with  the  light  curls  that 
fell  over  her  temples,  he  did  not  see  that  her  face  was  flushed  with 
interest,  or  notice  the  quick  smile  and  sparkle  of  the  eye  that  fol 
lowed  every  turn  in  the  conversation  that  favoured  her  wishes  or 

foiled  his ; it  was  M.  Muller.    They  came  to  the  Swiss,  and  their 

famous   struggle   for   freedom    against  Austrian  oppression.     M. 
Muller  wished  to  speak  of  the  noted  battle  in  which  that  freedom 
was  made  sure,  but  for  the  moment  its  name  had  escaped  him.^ 
"  Par  ma  foi,"  said  M.  Villars, — "  il  m'a  entierement  passe" !" 
Mr.  Lindsay  could  not  or  would  not  help  him  out.     But  M. 
Muller  suddenly  turned  to  Ellen,  in  whose  face  he  thought  he  saw 
a  look  of  intelligence,  and  begged  of  her  the  missing  name. 
"Est-ce  Morgarten,  monsieur?"   said  Ellen  blushing. 
"Morgarten!  c'est  ga !"   said  he  with  a  polite,  pleased  bow  of 
thanks.     Mr.  Lindsay  was  little  less  astonished  than  the  Duke  of 
Argyle  when  his  gardener  claimed  to  be  the  owner  of  a  Latin  work 
on  mathematics. 

The  conversation  presently  took  a  new  turn  with  M.  Villars  ;  and 
M.  Muller  withdrawing  from  it  addressed  himself  to  Ellen.  He 
was  a  pleasant-looking  elderly  gentleman ;  she  had  never  seen  him 
before  that  evening. 

"  You  know  French  well  then  ?"  said  he,  speaking  to  her  in  that 
tongue. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Ellen  modestly. 
"  And  you  have  heard  of  the  Swiss  mountaineers?" 
"  Oh,  yes,  sir ;  a  great  deal." 

He  opened  his  watch  and  showed  her  in  the  back  of  it  an  ex 
quisite  little  painting,  asking  her  if  she  knew  what  it  was. 
"  It  is  an  Alpine  chalet,  is  it  not,  sir  ?' ' 

He  was  pleased  and  went  on,  always  in  French,  to  tell  Ellen 
that  Switzerland  was  his  country ;  and  drawing  a  little  aside  from 
the  other  talkers,  he  entered  into  a  long  and  to  her  most  delightful 
conversation.  In  the  pleasantest  manner  he  gave  her  a  vast  deal 
of  very  entertaining  detail  about  the  country  and  the  manners  and 
habits  of  the  people  of  the  Alps,  especially  in  the  Tyrol,  where  he 
had  often  travelled.  It  would  have  been  hard  to  tell  whether  the 
child  had  most  pleasure  in  receiving,  or  the  man  of  deep  study  and 
science  most  pleasure  in  giving,  all  manner  of  information.  He 
saw,  he  said,  that  she  was  very  fond  of  the  heroes  of  freedom,  and 
asked  if  she  had  ever  heard  of  Andrew  Hofer,  the  Tyrolese  peas 
ant  who  led  on  his  brethren  in  their  noble  endeavours  to  rid  them 
selves  of  French  and  Bavarian  oppression.  Ellen  had  never  heard 
of  him. 

"  You  know  William  Tell?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Ellen  said, — she  knew  him. 


524  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD, 

"And  Bonaparte?" 

"Yes,  very  well." 

He  went  on  then  to  give  her  in  a  very  interesting  way  the 
history  of  Hofer ; — how  when  Napoleon  made  over  his  country  to 
the  rule  of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  who  oppressed  them,  they  rose 
in  mass ;  overcame  army  after  army  that  were  sent  against  them 
in  their  mountain  fastnesses,  and  freed  themselves  from  the  hated 
Bavarian  government ;  how  years  after  Napoleon  was  at  last  too 
strong  for  them  j  Hofer  and  his  companions  defeated,  hunted  like 
wild  beasts,  shot  down  like  them  ;  how  Hofer  was  at  last  betrayed 
by  a  friend,  taken,  and  executed,  being  only  seen  to  weep  at  part 
ing  with  his  family.  The  beautiful  story  was  well  told,  and  the 
speaker  was  animated  by  the  eager  deep  attention  and  sympathy 
of  his  auditor,  whose  changing  colour,  smiles,  and  even  tears, 
showed  how  well  she  entered  into  the  feelings  of  the  patriots  in 
their  struggle,  triumph,  and  downfall ;  till  as  he  finished  she  was 
left  full  of  pity  for  them  and  hatred  of  Napoleon.  They  talked 
of  the  Alps  again.  M.  Muller  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  and 
pulled  out  a  little  painting  in  mosaic  to  show  her,  which  he  said 
had  been  given  him  that  day.  It  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  pietra 
dura  work — Mont  Blanc.  He  assured  her  the  mountain  often 
looked  exactly  so.  Ellen  admired  it  very  much.  It  was  meant  to 
be  set  for  a  brooch  or  some  such  thing,  he  said,  and  he  asked  if 
she  would  keep  it  and  sometimes  wear  it,  to  "  remember  the  Swiss, 
and  to  do  him  a  pleasure." 

"  Moi,  monsieur!"  said  Ellen,  colouring  high  with  surprise  and 
pleasure, — "je  suis  bien  obligee — mais,  monsieur,  je  ne  saurais 
vous  remercier!" 

He  would  count  himself  well  paid,  he  said,  with  a  single  touch 
of  her  lips. 

"  Tenez,  monsieur !"  said  Ellen,  blushing,  but  smiling,  and  ten 
dering  back  the  mosaic. 

He  laughed  and  bowed  and  begged  her  pardon,  and  said  she 
must  keep  it  to  assure  him  she  had  forgiven  him  j  and  then  he 
asked  by  what  name  he  might  remember  her. 

"  Monsieur,  je  m'appelle  Ellen  M " 

She  stopped  short,  in  utter  and  blank  uncertainty  what  to  call 
herself;  Montgomery  she  dared  not ;  Lindsay  stuck  in  her  throat, 

"  Have  you  forgotten  it?"  said  M.  Muller,  amused  at  her  look, 
"  or  is  it  a  secret?" 

"  Tell  M.  Muller  your  name,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  turning 
round  from  a  group  where  he  was  standing  at  a  little  distance. 
The  tone  was  stern  and  displeased.  Ellen  felt  it  keenly,  and  with 
difficulty  and  some  hesitation  still,  murmured, 

"  Ellen  Lindsay." 

"  Lindsay  ?     Are  you  the  daughter  of  my  friend  Mr.  Lindsay  ?" 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  525 

Again  Ellen  hesitated,  in  great  doubt  how  to  answer,  but  finally, 
not  without  starting  tears,  said, 
"  Oui,  monsieur." 
"Your  memory  is  bad  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  in  her  ear, 

n  yOU  had  better  go  where  you  can  refresh  it." 

Ellen  took  this  as   a  hint  to  leave  the  room,  which   she  did 
immediately,  not  a  little  hurt  at  the  displeasure  she  did  not  thin1 
she  had  deserved ;  she  loved  Mr.  Lindsay  the  best  of  all  her  rela 
tions,  and  really  loved  him.     She  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep  again 
that  night  with  wet  eyelashes. 

Meanwhile  M.  Muller  was  gratifying  Mr.  Lindsay  in  a  high  de 
gree  by  the  praises  he  bestowed  upon  his  daughter,— her  intelli 
gence,  her  manners,  her  modesty,  and  her  French.  He  asked  if 
she  was  to  be  in  Edinburgh  that  winter  and  whether  she  would  be 
at  school ;  and  Mr.  Lindsay  declaring  himself  undecided  on  the 
latter  point,  M.  Muller  said  he  should  be  pleased,  if  she  had 
leisure,  to  have  her  come  to  his  rooms  two  or  three  times  a  week 
to  read  with  him.  This  offer,  from  a  person  of  M.  Muller' s 
standing  and  studious  habits,  Mr.  Lindsay  justly  took  as  both  a 
great  compliment  and  a  great  promise  of  advantage  to  Ellen.  He 
at  once  and  with  much  pleasure  accepted  it.  So  the  question  of 
school  was  settled. 

Ellen  resolved  the  next  morning  to  lose  no  time  in  making  up 
her  difference  with  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  schooled  herself  to  use  a 
form  of  words  that  she  thought  would  please  him.  Pride  said 
indeed,  "  Do  no  such  thing ;  don't  go  to  making  acknowledge 
ments  when  you  have  not  been  in  the  wrong ;  you  are  not  bound 
to  humble  yourself  before  unjust  displeasure."  Pride  pleaded 
powerfully.  But  neither  Ellen's  heart  nor  her  conscience  would 
permit  her  to  take  this  advice.  "  He  loves  me  very  much,"  she 

thought, "  and  perhaps  he  did  not  understand  me  last  night ; 

and  besides,  I  owe  him — yes,  I  do  ! — a  child's  obedience  now.  I 
ought  not  to  leave  him  displeased  with  me  a  moment  longer  than 
I  can  help.  And  besides  I  couldn't  be  happy  so.  God  gives  grace 
to  the  humble — I  will  humble  myself." 

To  have  a  chance  for  executing  this  determination  she  went  down 
stairs  a  good  deal  earlier  than  usual ;  she  knew  Mr.  Lindsay  was 
generally  there  before  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  she  hoped  to  see 
him  alone.  It  was  too  soon  even  for  him,  however ;  the  rooms 
were  empty ;  so  Ellen  took  her  book  from  the  table,  and  being 
perfectly  at  peace  with  herself,  sat  down  in  the  window  and  was 
presently  lost  in  the  interest  of  what  she  was  reading.  She  did 
not  know  of  Mr.  Lindsay's  approach  till  a  little  imperative  tap  on 
her  shoulder  startled  her. 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of  last  night  ?  what  made  you  answer 
M.  Muller  in  the  way  you  did  ?" 


526  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

Ellen  started  up,  but  to  utter  her  prepared  speech  was  no  longer 
possible. 

"  I  did  not  know  what  to  say,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  he  angrily.  "  Didn't  you 
know  what  I  wished  you  to  say?" 

"  Yes — but — do  not  speak  to  me  in  that  way  !"  exclaimed  Ellen, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  Pride  struggled  to  keep  back 
the  tears  that  wanted  to  flow. 

"I  shall  choose  my  own  method  of  speaking.  Why  did  you 
not  say  what  you  knew  I  wished  you  to  say  ?" 

"  I  was  afraid — I  didn't  know — but  he  would  think  what  wasn't 
true." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  wish  him  and  all  the  world  to  think.  I 
will  have  no  difference  made,  Ellen,  either  by  them  or  you.  Now 
lift  up  your  head  and  listen  to  me,"  said  he,  taking  both  her  hands, 
— "I  lay  my  commands  upon  you,  whenever  the  like  questions 
may  be  asked  again,  that  you  answer  simply  according  to  what  I 
have  told  you,  without  any  explanation  or  addition.  It  is  true,  and 
if  people  draw  conclusions  that  are  not  true,  it  is  what  I  wish.  Do 
you  understand  me?" 

Ellen  bowed. 

"  Will  you  obey  me?" 

She  answered  again  in  the  same  mute  way. 

He  ceased  to  hold  her  at  arm's  length,  and  sitting  down  in  her 
chair  drew  her  close  to  him,  saying  more  kindly, 

"  You  must  not  displease  me,  Ellen." 

"I  had  no  thought  of  displeasing  you,  sir,"  said  Ellen  bursting 
into  tears, — "  and  I  was  very  sorry  for  it  last  night.  I  did  not 
mean  to  disobey  you — I  only  hesitated " 

"Hesitate  no  more.  My  commands  may  serve  to  remove  the 
cause  of  it.  You  are  my  daughter,  Ellen,  and  I  am  your  father. 
Poor  child!"  said  he,  for  Ellen  was  violently  agitated, — "  I  don't 
believe  I  shall  have  much  difficulty  with  you." 

"If  you  will  only  not  speak  and  look  at  me  so,"  said  Ellen, — 
"  it  makes  me  very  unhappy " 

"  Hush  !"  said  he  kissing  her; — "  do  not  give  me  occasion." 

"  I  did  not  give  you  occasion,  sir?" 

"  Why,  Ellen  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  half  displeased  again,—"  I 
shall  begin  to  think  your  aunt  Keith  is  right,  that  you  are  a  true 
Lindsay.  But  so  am  I, — and  I  will  have  only  obedience  from  you 
— without  either  answering  or  argumeriting." 

"  You  shall,"  murmured  Ellen.  "  But  do  not  be  displeased  with 
me,  father." 

Ellen  had  schooled  herself  to  say  that  word ;  she  knew  it  would 
greatly  please  him ;  and  she  was  not  mistaken ;  though  it  was 
spoken  so  low  that  his  ears  could  but  just  catch  it.  Displeasure 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  527 

was  entirely  overcome.  He  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  kissing  her 
with  great  tenderness,  and  would  not  let  her  go  from  his  arms  till 
he  had  seen  her  smile  again ;  and  during  all  the  day  he  was  not 
willing  to  have  her  out  of  his  sight. 

It  would  have  been  easy  that  morning  for  Ellen  to  have  made  a 
breech  between  them  that  would  not  readily  have  been  healed. 
One  word  of  humility  had  prevented  it  all,  and  fastened  her  more 
firmly  than  ever  in  Mr.  Lindsay's  affection.  She  met  with  nothing 
from  him  but  tokens  of  great  and  tender  fondness ;  and  Lady  Keith 
told  her  mother  apart  that  there  would  be  no  doing  any  thing  with 
George ;  she  saw  he  was  getting  bewitched  with  that  child. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

My  heart  is  sair,  I  dare  nae  tell, 

My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody  5 
I  could  wake  a  winter  night 
For  the  sake  of  somebody. 
Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  ! 
Oh  hey  !  for  somebody  ! 
I  wad  do — what  wad  I  not, 
For  the  sake  of  somebody. 

SCOTCH  SONG. 


IN  a  few  weeks  they  moved  to  Edinburgh,  where  arrangements 
were  speedily  made  for  giving  Ellen  every  means  of  improvement 
that  masters  and  mistresses,  books  and  instruments,  could  aftord^ 

The  house  in  Georges- street  was  large  and  pleasant.     To  Ellen  s 
great  joy,  a  pretty  little  room  opening  from  the  first  landing-place 
of  the  private  staircase  was  assigned  for  her  special  use  as  a  study 
and  work-room  ;  and  fitted  up  nicely  for  her  with  a  small  bookcase 
a  practising  piano,  and  various  etceteras.     Here  her  beloved  desk 
took  its  place  on  a  table  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  where  Ellen 
thought  she  would  make  many  a  new  drawing  when  she  was  by 
herself      Her  work-box  was  accommodated  with  a  smaller  stand 
near  the  window.     A  glass  door  at  one  end  of  the  room  opened 
upon  a  small  iron  balcony  ;  this  door  and  balcony  Ellen  esteemed  a 
very  particular   treasure.     With    marvellous    satisfaction    she   ar 
ranged  and  rearranged  her  little  sanctum  till  she  had  all  things  to 
her  mind,  and  it  only  wanted,  she  thought,  a  glass  of  flowers, 
will  have  that  too  some  of  these  days."  she  said  to  herself;  and 
resolved  to  deserve  her  pretty  room  by  being  very  busy  there.     It 
was  hers  alone,  open  indeed  to  her  friends  when  they  chose   to 
keep   her   company;    but  lessons  were  taken  elsewhere;    in  the 
library,  or  the  music-room,  or  more  frequently  her  grandmother's 


528 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 


j-room.     Wherever,  or  whatever,   Mrs.  Lindsay  or   Lady 
Keith  was  always  present. 

Ellen  was  the  plaything,  pride,  and  delight  of  the  whole  family. 
Not  so  much  however  Lady  Keith's  plaything  as  her  pride ;  while 
pride  had  a  less  share  in  the  affection  o*f  the  other  two,  or  rather 
perhaps  was  more  overtopped  by  it.  Ellen  felt  however  that  all 
their  hearts  were  set  upon  her,  felt  it  gratefully,  and  determined 


she  would  give  them  all  the  pleasure  she  possibly  could.  Her  love 
for  other  friends,  friends  that  they  knew  nothing  of,  American 
friends,  was,  she  knew,  the  sore  point  with  them ;  she  resolved 
not  to  speak  of  those  friends,  nor  allude  to  them,  especially  in  any 
way  that  should  show  how  much  of  her  heart  was  out  of  Scotland. 
But  this  wise  resolution  it  was  very  hard  for  poor  Ellen  to  keep. 
She  was  unaccustomed  to  concealments ;  and  in  ways  that  she 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  529 

could  neither  foresee  nor  prevent,  the  unwelcome  truth  would  come 
up,  and  the  sore  was  not  healed. 

One  day  Ellen  had  a  headache  and  was  sent  to  lie  down.  Alone, 
and  quietly  stretched  on  her  bed,  very  naturally  Ellen's  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  last  time  she  had  had  a  headache,  at  home,  as  she 
always  called  it  to  herself.  She  recalled  with  a  straitened  heart 
the  gentle  and  tender  manner  of  John's  care  for  her ;  how  nicely 
he  had  placed  her  on  the  sofa ;  how  he  sat  by  her  side  bathing  her 
temples,  or  laying  his  cool  hand  on  her  forehead,  and  once,  she  .re 
membered,  his  lips.  "  I  wonder,"  thought  Ellen,  "  what  I  ever  did 
to  make  him  love  me  so  much,  as  I  know  he  does?"  She  remem 
bered  how,  when  she  was  able  to  listen,  he  still  sat  beside  her,  talk 
ing  such  sweet  words  of  kindness  and  comfort  and  amusement,  that 
she  almost  loved  to  be  sick  to  have  such  tending,  and  looked  up  at 
him  as  at  an  angel.  She  felt  it  all  over  again.  Unfortunately, 
after  she  had  fallen  asleep,  Mrs.  Lindsay  came  in  to  see  how  she  was, 
and  two  tears,  the  last  pair  of  them,  were  slowly  making  their  way 
down  her  cheeks.  Her  grandmother  saw  them,  and  did  not  rest  till 
she  knew  the  cause.  Ellen  was  extremely  sorry  to  tell,  she  did  her 
best  to  get  off  from  it,  but  she  did  not  know  how  to  evade  ques 
tion^;  and  those  that  were  put  to  her  indeed  admitted  of  no  evasion. 

A  "few  days  later,  just  after  they  came  to  Edinburgh,  it  was  re 
marked  one  morning  at  breakfast  that  Ellen  was  very  straight  and 
carried  herself  well. 

"  It  is  no  thanks  to  me,"  said  Ellen  smiling, — "  they  never  would 
let  me  hold  myself  ill." 

"  Who  is  '  the-y  ?'  "   said  Lady  Keith. 

"  My  brother  and  sister." 

"  I  wish,  Greorge,"  said  Lady  Keith  discontentedly,  "  that  you 
would  lay  your  commands  upon  Ellen  to  use  that  form  of  expres 
sion  no  more.  My  ears  are  absolutely  sick  of  it." 

"You  do  not  hear  it  very  often,  aunt  Keith,"  Ellen  could  not 
help  saying. 

"  Quite  often  enough ;  and  I  know  it  is  upon  your  lips  a  thou 
sand  times  when  you  do  not  speak  it." 

"  And  if  Ellen  does,  we  do  not,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "  wish  to 
claim  kindred  with  all  the  world." 

"  How  came  you  to  take  up  such  an  absurd  habit?"  said  Lady 
Keith.  "It  isn't  like  you." 

"  They  took  it  up  first,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  was  too  glad " 

"Yes,  I  dare  say  they  had  their  reasons  for  taking  it  up,"  said 
her  aunt; — "they  had  acted  from  interested  motives  I  have  no 
doubt;  people  always  do." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  aunt  Keith,"  said  Eilen,  with 
uncontrollable  feeling ; — "  you  do  not  in  the  least  know  what  you 
are  talking  about !" 

x        ii  45 


530  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

Instantly,  Mr.  Lindsay's  fingers  tapped  her  lips.  Ellen  coloured 
painfully,  but  after  an  instant's  hesitation  she  said, 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  aunt  Keith,  I  should  not  have  said  that." 

"  Very  well !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay.  "  But  understand,  Ellen,  how 
ever  you  may  have  taken  it  up, — this  habit, — you  will  lay  it  down 
for  the  future.  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  brothers  and  sisters.  I 
cannot,  as  your  grandmother  says,  fraternize  with  all  the  world, 
especially  with  unknown  relations." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  have  made  that  regulation,"  said  Mrs. 
Lindsay. 

11 1  cannot  conceive  how  Ellen  has  got  such  a  way  of  it,"  said 
Lady  Keith. 

"It  is  very  natural,"  said  Ellen,  with  some  huskiness  of  voice, 
"  that  I  should  say  so,  because  I  feel  so." 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "that  this  Mr. 
and  Miss  Somebody — these  people — I  don't  know  their  names " 

"There  is  only  one  now,  sir." 

"  This  person  you  call  your  brother — do  you  mean  to  say  you 
have  the  same  regard  for  him  as  if  he  had  been  born  so  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  cheek  arid  eye  suddenly  firing, — "  but  a  thou 
sand  times  more  !" 

She  was  exceedingly  sorry  the  next  minute  after  she  had  said 
this  ;  for  she  knew  it  had  given  both  pain  and  displeasure  in  a  great 
degree.  No  answer  was  made.  Ellen  dared  not  look  at  any  body, 
and  needed  not ;  she  wished  the  silence  might  be  broken ;  but 
nothing  was  heard  except  a  low  "  whew  !"  from  Mr.  Lindsay,  till 
he  rose  up  and  left  the  room.  Ellen  was  sure  he  was  very  much 
displeased.  Even  the  ladies  were  too  much  offended  to  speak  on 
the  subject;  and  she  was  merely  bade  to  go  to  her  room.  She 
went  there,  and  sitting  down  on  the  floor,  covered  her  face  with 
her  hands.  "What  shall  I  do?  what  shall  I  do?"  she  said  to 
herself.  "I  never  shall  govern  this  tongue  of  mine.  Oh,  I  wish 
I  had  not  said  that !  they  never  will  forgive  it.  What  can  I  do  to 
make  them  pleased  with  me  again  ? — Shall  I  go  to  my  father's 
study  and  beg  him — but  I  can't  ask  him  to  forgive  me — I  haven't 
done  wrong — I  can't  unsay  what  I  said.  I  can  do  nothing, — I  can 
only  go  in  the  way  of  my  duty  and  do  the  best  I  can, — and  maybe 
they  will  come  round  again.  But  oh,  dear !" — 

A  flood  of  tears  followed  this  resolution. 

Ellen  kept  it ;  she  tried  to  be  blameless  in  all  her  work  and  be 
haviour,  but  she  sorrowfully  felt  that  her  friends  did  not  forgive 
her.  There  was  a  cool  air  of  displeasure  about  all  they  said  and 
did ;  the  hand  of  fondness  was  not  laid  upon  her  shoulder,  she  was 
not  wrapped  in  loving  arms,  as  she  used  to  be  a  dozen  times  a  day  ; 
no  kisses  fell  on  her  brow  or  lips.  Ellen  felt  it,  more  from  Mr. 
Lindsay  than  both  the  others ;  her  spirits  sunk ; — she  had  been 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  531 

forbidden  to  speak  of  her  absent  friends,  but  that  was  not  the  way 
to  make  her  forget  them ;  and  there  was  scarce  a  minute  in  the  day 
when  her  brother  was  not  present  to  her  thoughts. 

Sunday  came;  her  first  Sunday  in  Edinburgh.  All  went  to 
church  in  the  morning ;  in  the  afternoon  Ellen  found  that  nobody 
was  going ;  her  grandmother  was  lying  down.  She  asked  permis 
sion  to  go  alone. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  because  you  think  you  must?  or  for  pleas 
ure  ?' '  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  For  pleasure !"  said  Ellen's  tongue  and  her  opening  eyes  at 
the  same  time. 

"  You  may  go." 

With  eager  delight  Ellen  got  ready,  and  was  hastening  along 
the  hall  to  the  door,  when  she  met  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 

"To  church,  sir." 

"  Alone  !  What  do  you  want  to  go  for!  No,  no,  I  shan't  let 
you.  Come  in  here — I  w:mt  you  with  me  ; — you  have  been  once 
to-day  already,  haven't  you?  You  do  not  want  to  go  again  ?" 

"  I  do  indeed,  sir,  very  much,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  reluctantly 
followed  him  into  the  library, — "if  you  have  no  objection.  You 
know  I  have  not  seen  Edinburgh  yet." 

"Edinburgh!  that's  true,  so  you  haven't,"  said  he,  looking  at 
her  discomfited  face.  "  Well  go,  if  you  want  to  go  so  much." 

Ellen  got  as  far  as  the  hall  door,  no  further ;  she  rushed  back  to 
the  library. 

"  I  did  not  say  right  when  I  said  that,"  she  burst  forth  ; — "  that 
was  not  the  reason  I  wanted  to  go. — I  will  stay,  if  you  wish  me, 
sir." 

"I  don't  wish  it,"  said  he  in  surprise; — "I  don't  know  what 
you  mean — I  am  willing  you  should  go  if  you  like  it.  Away  with 
you  !  it  is  time." 

Once  more  Ellen  set  out,  but  this  time  with  a  heart  full ;  much 
too  full  to  think  of  any  thing  she  saw  by  the  way.  It  was  with  a 
singular  feeling  of  pleasure  that  she  entered  the  church  alone.  It 
was  a  strange  church  to  her,  never  seen  but  once  before,  and  as  she 
softly  passed  up  the  broad  aisle  she  saw  nothing  in  the  building  or 
the  people  around  her  that  was  not  strange, — no  familiar  face,  no 
familiar  thing.  But  it  was  a  church,  and  she  was  alone,  quite 
alone  in  the  midst  of  that  crowd  ;  and  she  went  up  to  the  empty 
pew  and  ensconced  herself  in  the  far  corner  of  it,  with  a  curious 
feeling  of  quiet  and  of  being  at  home.  She  was  no  sooner  seated, 
however,  than  leaning  forward  as  much  as  possible  to  screen  her 
self  from  observation,  bending  her  head  upon  her  knees,  she  burst 
into  an  agony  of  tears.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  be  able  to  weep 
freely  ;  at  home  she  was  afraid  of  being  seen  or  heard  or  questioned ; 


532  f-HE  WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

now  she  was  alone  and  free,  and  she  poured  out  her  very  heart  in 
weeping  that  she  with  difficulty  kept  from  being  loud  weeping. 

"  Oh,  how  could  I  say  that!  how  could  I  say  that!  Oh,  what  would 
John  have  thought  of  me  if  he  had  heard  it ! — Am  I  beginning  already 
to  lose  my  truth  ?  am  I  going  backward  already  ?  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ! 
whafc  will  become  of  me  if  I  do  not  watch  over  myself — there 
is  no  one  to  help  me  or  lead  me  right — not  a  single  one — all  to 
lead  me  wrong  !  what  will  become  of  me  ? — But  there  is  One  who 
has  promised  to  keep  those  that  follow  him — he  is  sufficient,  with 
out  any  others — I  have  not  kept  near  enough  to  him  !  that  is  it ; — 
I  have  not  remembered  nor  loved  him — '  If  ye  love  me,  keep  my 
commandments,' — I  have  not !  I  have  not!  Oh,  but  I  will  ! — I 
will ;  and  he  will  be  with  me,  and  help  me  and  bless  me,  and  all 
will  go  right  with  me." 

With  bitter  tears  Ellen  mingled  as  eager  prayers,  for  forgiveness 
and  help  to  be  faithful.  She  resolved  that  nothing,  come  what 
would,  should  tempt  her  to  swerve  one  iota  from  the  straight  line 
of  truth ;  she  resolved  to  be  more  careful  of  her  private  hour ;  she 
thought  she  had  scarcely  had  her  full  hour  a  day  lately ;  she  re 
solved  to  make  the  Bible  her  only  and  her  constant  rule  of  life  in 
every  thing  ; — and  she  prayed,  such  prayers  as  a  heart  thoroughly 
in  earnest  can  pray,  for  the  seal  to  these  resolutions.  Not  one 
word  of  the  sermon  did  Ellen  hear ;  but  she  never  passed  a  more 
profitable  hour  in  church  in  her  life. 

All  her  tears  were  not  from  the  spring  of  these  thoughts  and 
feelings  ;  some  were  the  pouring  out  of  the  gathered  sadness  of  the 
week ;  some  came  from  recollections,  oh,  how  tender  and  strong ! 
of  lost  and  distant  friends.  Her  mother — and  Alice — and  Mr. 
Humphreys — and  Margery — and  Mr.  Van  Brunt— and  Mr.  George 
Marshman ; — and  she  longed,  with  longing  that  seemed  as  if  it 
would  have  burst  her  heart,  to  see  her  brother.  She  longed  for 
the  pleasant  voice,  the  eye  of  thousand  expressions,  into  which  she 
always  looked  as  if  she  had  never  seen  it  before,  the  calm  look 
that  told  he  was  satisfied  with  her,  the  touch  of  his  hand,  which 
many  a  time  had  said  a  volume.  Ellen  thought  she  would  give 
any  thing  in  the  world  to  see  him  and  hear  him  speak  one  word. 
As  this  could  not  be,  she  resolved  with  the  greatest  care  to  do  what 
would  please  him ;  that  when  she  did  see  him  he  might  find  her  all 
he  wished. 

She  had  wept  herself  out ;  she  had  refreshed  and  strengthened 
herself  by  fleeing  to  the  stronghold  of  the  prisoners  of  hope ;  and 
when  the  last  hymn  was  given  out  she  raised  her  head  and  took 
the  book  to  find  it.  To  her  great  surprise  she  saw  Mr.  Lindsay 
sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the  pew,  with  folded  arms,  like  a  man 
not  thinking  of  what  was  going  on  around  him.  Ellen  was  star 
tled,  but  obeying  the  instinct  that  told  her  what  he  would  like,  she 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  533 

immediately  moved  down  the  pew  and  stood  beside  him  while  the 
last  hymn  was  singing  ;  and  if  Ellen  had  joined  in  no  other  part 
of  the  service  that  afternoon,  she  at  least  did  in  that  with  all  her 
heart.  They  walked  home  then  without  a  word  on  either  side. 
Mr.  Lindsay  did  not  quit  her  hand  till  he  had  drawn  her  into  the 
library.  There  he  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  wrappers,  and  taking 
her  in  his  arms,  exclaimed, 

"  My  poor  little  darling!  what  was  the  matter  with  you  this 
afternoon  ?" 

There  was  so  much  of  kindness  again  in  his  tone,  that  over 
joyed,  Ellen  eagerly  returned  his  caress,  and  assured  him  that  there 
was  nothing  the  matter  with  her  now. 

"  Nothing  the  matter  !"  said  he,  tenderly  pressing  her  face  against 
his  own, — "  nothing  the  matter!  with  these  pale  cheeks  and  wet 
eyes  ?  nothing  now,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Only  that  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  speak  kindly  to  me  again, 
sir." 

"Kindly?  I  will  never  speak  any  way  but  kindly  to  you, 
daughter  ; — come  !  I  will  not  have  any  more  tears — you  have  shed 
enough  for  to-day  I  am  sure ;  lift  up  your  face  and  I  will  kiss 
them  away.  What  was  the  matter  with  you,  my  child  ?" 

But  he  had  to  wait  a  little  while  for  an  answer. 

"  What  was  it,  Ellen?" 

"  One  thing,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  was  sorry  for  what  I  had  said  to 
you,  sir,  just  before  I  went  out." 

"  What  was  that  ?  I  do  not  remember  any  thing  that  deserved 
to  be  a  cause  of  grief." 

"  I  told  you,  sir,  when  I  wanted  you  to  let  me  go  to  church,  that 
I  hadn't  seen  Edinburgh  yet." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  sir,  that  wasn't  being  quite  true  ;  and  I  was  very  sorry 
for  it!" 

"  Not  true  ?  yes  it  was  ;  what  do  you  mean  ?  you  had  not  seen 
Edinburgh." 

"  No,  sir,  but  I  mean — that  was  true,  but  I  said  it  to  make  you 
believe  what  wasn't  true." 

"How?" 

u  I  meant  you  to  think,  sir,  that  that  was  the  reason  why  I 
wanted  to  go  to  church — to  see  the  city  and  the  new  sights — and 
it  wasn't  at  all." 

"What  was  it  then?" 

Ellen  hesitated. 

"  I  always  love  to  go,  sir, — and  besides  I  believe  I  wanted  to  be 
alone." 

"  And  you  were  not,  after  all,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  again  pressing 
her  cheek  to  his, — "  for  I  followed  you  there.  But  Ellen,  my 

45* 


534  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

child,  you  were  troubled  without  reason ;  you  had  said  nothing 
that  was  false." 

"  Ah,  sir,  but  I  had  made  you  believe  what  was  false." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "  you  are  a  nice  reasoner. 
And  are  you  always  true  upon  this  close  scale  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  was,  sir,  but  you  see  I  am  not.  I  am  sure  I  hate 
every  thing  else  !" 

"  Well,  I  will  not  quarrel  with  you  for  being  true,"  said  Mr. 

Lindsay; "I  wish  there  was  a  little  more  of  it  in  the  world. 

Was  this  the  cause  of  all  those  tears  this  afternoon  ?" 

"  No,  sir— not  all." 

"  What  beside,  Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  looked  down,  and  was  silent. 

"  Come — I  must  know." 

"Must  I  tell  you  all,  sir?" 

"  You  must  indeed,"  said  he  smiling  ;  "  I  will  have  the  whole, 
daughter." 

"  I  had  been  feeling  sorry  all  the  week  because  you  and  grand 
mother  and  aunt  Keith  were  displeased  with  me." 

Again  Mr.  Lindsay's  silent  caress  in  its  tenderness  seemed  to 
say  that  she  should  never  have  the  same  complaint  to  make  again. 

"  Was  that  all,  Ellen?"  as  she  hesitated. 

"  No,  sir." 

"Well?" 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  ask  me  further  ;  please  do  not ! — I  shall 
displease  you  again." 

"I  will  not  be  displeased." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Humphreys,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low  tone. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  You  know,  sir, — you  say  I  must  not  call  him " 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of  him  ?" 

"  I  was  wishing  very  much  I  could  see  him  again." 

"Well  you  are  a  truth-teller,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "or  bolder 
than  I  think  you." 

"  You  said  you  would  not  be  displeased,  sir." 

"  Neither  will  I,  daughter;  but  what  shall  I  do  to  make  you 
forget  these  people  ?" 

"Nothing,  sir;  I  3annot  forget  them;  I  shouldn't  deserve  to 
have  you  love  me  a  bit  if  I  could.  Let  me  love  them,  and  do  not 
be  angry  with  me  for  it  1" 

"  But  I  am  not  satisfied  tc  have  your  body  here  and  your  heart 
somewhere  else." 

"  I  must  have  a  poor  little  kind  of  heart,''  said  Ellen,  smiling 
amidst  her  tears,  "  if  it  had  room  in  it  for  only  one  person." 

"Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  inquisitively,  "did  you  insinuate  a 
falsehood  there?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  535 

"No,  sir!" 

"  There  is  honesty  in  those  eyes,"  said  he,  "  if  there  is  honesty 
anywhere  in  the  world.  I  am  satisfied — that  is  half  satisfied. 
Now  lie  there,  my  little  daughter,  and  rest,"  said  he.  laying  her 
upon  the  sofa;  "  you  look  as  if  you  needed  it." 

"  I  don't  need  any  thing  now,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  laid  her  cheek 
upon  the  grateful  pillow,  "  except  one  thing — if  grandmother 
would  only  forgive  me  too." 

"  You  must  try  not  to  offend  your  grandmother,  Ellen,  for  she 
does  not  very  readily  forgive ;  but  I  think  we  can  arrange  this 
matter.  Go  you  to  sleep." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  as  she  closed  her  eyes,  "  why 
every  body  calls  me  '  little  j'  I  don't  think  I  am  very  little. 
Every  body  says  '  little.'  " 

Mr.  Lindsay  thought  he  understood  it  when  a  few  minutes  after 
he  sat  watching  her  as  she  really  had  fallen  asleep.  The  innocent 
brow,  the  perfect  sweet  calm  of  the  face,  seemed  to  belong  to 
much  younger  years.  Even  Mr.  Lindsay  could  not  help  recollect 
ing  the  housekeeper's  comment,  "  Heaven's  peace  within  ;"  scarcely 
Ellen's  own  mother  ever  watched  over  her  with  more  fond  tender 
ness  than  her  adopted  father  did  now. 

For  several  days  after  this  he  would  hardly  permit  her  to  leave 
him.  He  made  her  bring  her  books  and  study  where  he  was  ;  he 
went  out  and  came  in  with  her  ;  and  kept  her  by  his  side  when 
ever  they  joined  the  rest  of  the  family  at  meals  or  in  the  evening. 
Whether  Mr.  Lindsay  intended  it  or  not,  this  had  soon  the  effect  to 
abate  the  displeasure  of  his  mother  and  sister.  Ellen  was  almost 
taken  out  of  their  hands,  and  they  thought  it  expedient  not  to  let 
him  have  the  whole  of  her.  And  though  Ellen  could  better  bear 
their  cold  looks  and  words  since  she  had  Mr.  Lindsay's  favour 
again,  she  was  very  glad  when  they  smiled  upon  her  too,  and  went 
dancing  about  with  quite  a  happy  face. 

She  was  now  very  busy.  She  had  masters  for  the  piano  and 
singing  and  different  branches  of  knowledge  ;  she  went  to  Mr. 
Muller  regularly  twice  a  week  ;  and  soon  her  riding-attendance 
began.  She  had  said  no  more  on  the  subject,  but  went  quietly, 
hoping  they  would  find  out  their  mistake  before  long.  Lady  Keith 
always  accompanied  her. 

One  day  Ellen  had  ridden  near  her  usual  time,  when  a  young 
lady  with  whom  she  attended  a  German  class,  came  up  to  where 
she  was  resting.  This  lady  was  several  years  older  than  Ellen, 
but  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her. 

"  How  finely  you  got  on  yesterday,"  said  she, — "  making  us  all 
ashamed.  Ah,  I  guess  M.  Muller  helped  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  smiling,  "  he  did  help  me  a  little  ;  he  helped 
me  with  those  troublesome  pronunciations." 


536  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  With  nothing  else,  I  suppose?  Ah.  well,  we  must  submit  to 
be  stupid.  How  do  you  do  to-day  ?" 

"I  am  very  tired,  Miss  Gordon." 

"  Tired  ?     Oh,  you're  not  used  to  it." 

"No  it  isn't  that,"  said  Ellen ; — "  I  am  used  to  it— that  is  the 
reason  I  am  tired.  I  am  accustomed  to  ride  up  and  down  the 
country  at  any  pace  I  like  ;  and  it  is  very  tiresome  to  walk  stupidly 
round  and  round  for  an  hour." 

I  'But  do  you  know  how  to  manage  a  horse ?     I  thought  you 
were  only  just  beginning  to  learn." 

"  Oh,  no — I  have  been  learning  this  great  while ; — only  they 
don't  think  I  know  how,  and  they  have  never  seen  me.  Are  you 
just  come,  Miss  Gordon?" 

"Yes,  and  they  are  bringing  out  Sophronisbe  for  me — do  you 
know  Sophronisbe  ?— look— that  light  grey — isn't  she  beautiful  ? 
she's  the  loveliest  creature  in  the  whole  stud." 

II  Oh,  I  know  !"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  saw  you  on  her  the  other  day ; 
she  went  charmingly.     How  long  shall  I  be  kept  walking  here, 
Miss  Gordon?" 

"  Why  I  don't  know — I  should  thmK  they  would  find  out — what 
does  De  Courcy  say  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  he  comes  and  looks  at  me  and  says,  i  tres  bien — tres  bien,' 
and  '  allez  comme  ga,'  and  then  he  walks  off." 

"Well  I  declare  that  is  too  bad,"  said  Miss  Gordon  laughing. 
"Look  here — I've  got  a  good  thought  in  my  head — suppose  you 
mount  Sophronisbe  in  my  place,  without  saying  any  thing  to  any 
body,  and  let  them  see  what  you  are  up  to.  Can  you  trust  your 
self  ?  she's  very  spirited." 

"  I  could  trust  myself,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  but,  thank  you,  I  think  I 
had  better  not." 

"Afraid?" 

"  No,  not  at  all ;  but  my  aunt  and  father  would  not  like  it." 

"Nonsense  !  how  should  they  dislike  it — there's  no  sort  of  dan 
ger,  you  know.  Come  ! — I  thought  you  sat  wonderfully  for  a  be 
ginner.  I  am  surprised  De  Courcy  hadn't  better  eyes.  I  guess 
you  have  learned  German  before  Ellen? — Come,  will  you?" 

But  Ellen  declined,  preferring  her  plodding  walk  round  the  ring 
x)  any  putting  of  herself  forward.  Presently  Mr.  Lindsay  came 
n.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  there.  His  eyes  soon  singled 
:>ut  Ellen. 

"  My  daughter  sits  well,"  he  remarked  to  the  riding-master. 

"  A  merveille  ! — Mademoiselle  Lindesay  does  ride  remarquable- 
nent  pour  une  beginner — qui  ne  fait  que  commencer.  Would  it 
i>e  possible  that  she  has  had  no  lessons  before?" 

"  Why,  yes — she  has  had  lessons — of  what  sort  I  don't  know," 
>aid  Mr.  Lindsay,  going  up  to  Ellen.  "  How  do  you  like  it,  Ellen  ?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  537 

"I  don't  like  it  at  all,  sir." 

"  I  thought  you  were  so  fond  of  riding." 

"  I  don't  call  this  riding,  sir." 

"  Ha  !  what  do  you  call  riding  ?  Here,  M.  De  Courcy — won't 
you  have  the  goodness  to  put  this  young  lady  on  another  horse  and 
see  if  she  knows  any  thing  about  handling  him." 

"  With  great  pleasure  !"  M.  De  Courcy  would  do  any  thing  that 
was  requested  of  him.  Ellen  was  taken  out  of  the  ring  of  walkers 
and  mounted  on  a  fine  animal,  and  set  by  herself  to  have  her  skill 
tried  in  as  many  various  ways  as  M.  De  Courcy' s  ingenuity  could 
point  out.  Never  did  she  bear  herself  more  erectly  ;  never  were  her 
hand  and  her  horse's  mouth  on  nicer  terms  of  acquaintanceship; 
never,  even  to  please  her  master,  had  she  so  given  her  whole  soul 
to  the  single  business  of  managing  her  horse  and  herself  perfectly 
well.  She  knew  as  little  as  she  cared  that  a  number  of  persons 
besides  her  friends  were  standing  to  look  at  her ;  she  thought  of 
only  two  people  there,  Mr.  Lindsay  and  her  aunt  j  and  the  riding- 
master,  as  his  opinion  might  affect  theirs. 

"  C'est  tres  bien, — c'est  tres  bien,"  he  muttered, — c'est  par-faite- 
ment — Monsieur,  mademoiselle  votre  fille  has  had  good  lessons — 
voila  qui  est  entierement  conime  il  faut." 

"  Assez  bien,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  smiling.     "The  little  gypsy  !" 

"Mademoiselle,"  said  the  riding-master  as  she  paused  before 
them, — "  pourquoi,  wherefore  have  you  stopped  in  your  canter 
tantot — a  little  while  ago — et  puis  recommence  ?' ' 

"  Monsieur,  he  led  with  the  wrong  foot." 

"  C'est  ca — justement !"   he  exclaimed. 

"  Have  you  practised  leaping,  Ellen?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Try  her,  M.  De  Courcy.     Ho  T  high  will  you  go,  Ellen?" 

"  As  high  as  you  please,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  leaning  over  and  pat 
ting  her  horse's  neck  to  hide  her  smile. 

"  How  you  look,  child !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  in  a  pleased  tone. 
"  So  this  is  what  you  call  riding?" 

"  It  is  a  little  more  like  it,  sir." 

Ellen  was  tried  with  standing  and  running  leaps,  higher  and 
higher,  till  Mr.  Lindsay  would  have  no  more  of  it;  and  M.  De 
Courcy  assured  him  that  his  daughter  had  been  taught  by  a  very 
accomplished  rider,  and  there  was  little  or  nothing  left  for  him  to 
do;  il  n'y  pouvait  plus; — but  he  should  be  very  happy  to  have 
her  come  there  to  practise,  and  show  an  example  to  his  pupils. 

The  very  bright  colour  in  Ellen's  face  as  she  heard  this  might 
have  been  mistaken  for  the  flush  of  gratified  vanity:  it  was  noth 
ing  less.  Not  one  word  of  this  praise  did  she  take  to  herself,  nor 
had  she  sought  for  herself; — it  was  all  for  somebody  else ;  and 
perhaps  so  Lady  Keith  understood  it,  for  she  looked  rather  dia- 


538  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

comfited.  But  Mr.  Lindsay  was  exceedingly  pleased ;  and  prom 
ised  Ellen  that  as  soon  as  the  warm  weather  came  she  should  have 
a  horse  and  rides  to  her  heart's  content. 


CHAPTER   L. 

She  was  his  care,  his  hope,  and  his  delight, 
Most  in  his  thought,  and  ever  in  his  sight. 

DRYDEN. 

ELLEN  might  now  have  been  in  some  danger  of  being  spoiled, — . 
not  indeed  with  over-indulgence,  for  that  was  not  the  temper  of 
the  family, — but  from  finding  herself  a  person  of  so  much  conse 
quence.  She  could  not  but  feel  that  in  the  minds  of  every  one  of 
her  three  friends  she  was  the  object  of  greatest  importance ;  their 
thoughts  and  care  were  principally  occupied  with  her.  Even  Lady 
Keith  was  perpetually  watching,  superintending,  and  admonishing ; 
though  she  every  now  and  then  remarked  with  a  kind  of  surprise, 
that  ' '  really  she  scarcely  ever  had  to  say  any  thing  to  Ellen ;  she 
thought  she  must  know  things  by  instinct."  To  Mr.  Lindsay  and 
his  mother  she  was  the  idol  of  life ;  and  except  when  by  chance 
her  will  might  cross  theirs,  she  had  what  she  wished  and  did  what 
she  pleased. 

But  Ellen  happily  had  two  safeguards  which  effectually  kept  her 
from  pride  or  presumption. 

One  was  her  love  for  her  brother  and  longing  remembrance  of 
him.  There  was  no  one  to  take  his  place,  not  indeed  in  her  affec 
tions,  for  that  would  have  been  impossible,  but  in  the  daily  course 
of  her  life.  She  missed  him  in  every  thing.  She  had  abundance 
of  kindness  and  fondness  shown  her,  but  the  sympathy  was  want 
ing.  She  was  talked  to,  but  not  with.  No  one  now  knew  always 
what  she  was  thinking  of,  nor  if  they  did  would  patiently  draw  out 
her  thoughts,  canvass  them,  set  them  right  or  show  them  wrong. 
No  one  now  could  tell  what  she  was  feeling,  nor  had  the  art  sweetly, 
in  a  way  she  scarce  knew  how,  to  do  away  with  sadness,  or  dulness, 
or  perverseness,  and  leave  her  spirits  clear  and  bright  as  the  noon 
day.  With  all  the  petting  and  fondness  she  had  from  her  new 
friends,  Ellen  felt  alone.  She  was  petted  and  fondled  as  a  darling 
possession— a  dear  plaything— a  thing  to  be  cared  for,  taught,  gov 
erned,  disposed  of,  with  the  greatest  affection  and  delight ;  but 
John's  was  a  higher  style  of  kindness,  that  entered  into  all  her  in 
nermost  feelings  and  wants ;  and  his  was  a  higher  style  of  author 
ity  too,  that  reached  where  theirs  could  never  attain  ;  an  authority 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  539 

Ellen  always  felt  it  utterly  impossible  to  dispute ;  it  was  sure  to  be 
exerted  on  the  side  of  what  was  right ;  and  she  could  better  have 
borne  hard  words  from  Mr.  Lindsay  than  a  glance  of  her  brother's 
eye.  Ellen  made  no  objection  to  the  imperativeness  of  her  new 
guardians ;  it  seldom  was  called  up  so  as  to  trouble  her,  and  she 
was  not  of  late  particularly  fond  of  having  her  own  way ;  but  she 
sometimes  drew  comparisons. 

"  I  could  not  any  sooner — I  could  not  as  soon — have  disobeyed 
John ; — and  yet  he  never  would  have  spoken  to  me  as  they  do  if 
I  had." 

"Some  pride  perhaps?"  she  said,  remembering  Mr.  Dundas's 
words  ; — "  I  should  say  a  great  deal — John  isn't  proud  ; — and  yet 
— I  don't  know — he  isn't  proud  as  they  are;  I  wish  I  knew  what 
kinds  of  pride  are  right  and  what  wrong — he  would  tell  me  if  he 
was  here." 

"What  are  you  in  a  'brown  study'  about,  Ellen?"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay  ? 

"I  was  thinking,  sir,  about  different  kinds  of  pride — I  wish  I 
knew  the  right  from  the  wrong — or  is  there  any  good  kind  ?' ' 

"All  good,  Ellen — all  good,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "provided 
you  do  not  have  too  much  of  it." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  be  proud,  sir?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  laughing  and  pinching  her  cheek,  "  as  proud  as 
you  like  ;  if  you  only  don't  let  me  see  any  of  it." 

Not  very  satisfactory ;  but  that  was  the  way  with  the  few  ques 
tions  of  any  magnitude  Ellen  ventured  to  ask ;  she  was  kissed  and 
laughed  at,  called  metaphysical  or  philosophical,  and  dismissed 
with  no  light  on  the  subject.  She  sighed  for  her  brother.  The 
hours  with  M.  Muller  were  the  best  substitute  she  had ;  they  were 
dearly  prized  by  her,  and,  to  say  truth,  by  him.  He  had  no 
family,  he  lived  alone ;  and  the  visits  of  his  docile  and  intelligent 
little  pupil  became  very  pleasant  breaks  in  the  monotony  of  his 
home-life.  Truly  kind-hearted  and  benevolent,  and  a  true  lover 
of  knowledge,  he  delighted  to  impart  it.  Ellen  soon  found  she 
might  ask  him  as  many  questions  as  she  pleased,  that  were  at  all 
proper  to  the  subject  they  were  upon ;  and  he,  amused  and  in 
terested,  was  equally  able  and  willing  to  answer  her.  Often  when 
not  particularly  busy  he  allowed  her  hour  to  become  two.  Excel 
lent  hours  for  Ellen.  M.  Muller  had  made  his  proposition  to  Mr. 
Lindsay,  partly  from  grateful  regard  for  him,  and  partly  to  gratify 
the  fancy  he  had  taken  to  Ellen  on  account  of  her  simplicity, 
intelligence,  and  good  manners.  This  latter  motive  did  not  dis 
appoint  him.  He  grew  very  much  attached  to  his  little  pupil ;  an 
attachment  which  Ellen  faithfully  returned,  both  in  kind,  and  by 
every  trifling  service  that  it  could  fall  in  her  way  to  render  him. 
Fine  flowers  and  fruit,  that  it  was  her  special  delight  to  carry  to 


540  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

M.  Muller  ;  little  jobs  of  copying,  or  setting  in  order  some  disorderly 
matters  in  his  rooms,  where  he  soon  would  trust  her  to  do  any 
thing;  or  a  book  from  her  father's  library;  and  once  or  twice 
when  he  was  indisposed,  reading  to  him  as  she  did  by  the  hour 
patiently,  matters  that  could  neither  interest  nor  concern  her.  On 
the  whole,  and  with  good  reason,  the  days  when  they  were  to 
meet  were  hailed  with  as  much  pleasure  perhaps  by  M.  Muller  as 
by  Ellen  herself. 

Her  other  safeguard  was  the  precious  hour  alone  which  she  had 
promised  John  never  to  lose  when  she  could  help  it.  The  only 
time  she  could  have  was  the  early  morning  before  the  rest  of  the 
family  were  up.  To  this  hour,  and  it  was  often  more  than  an 
hour,  Ellen  was  faithful.  Her  little  Bible  was  extremely  precious 
now ;  Ellen  had  never  gone  to  it  with  a  deeper  sense  of  need  ;  and 
never  did  she  find  more  comfort  in  being  able  to  disburden  her 
heart  in  prayer  of  its  load  of  cares  and  wishes.  Never  more  than 
now  had  she  felt  the  preciousness  of  that  Friend  who  draws  closer 
to  his  children  the  closer  they  draw  to  him ;  she  had  never  re 
alized  more  the  joy  of  having  him  to  go  to.  It  was  her  special 
delight  to  pray  for  those  loved  ones  she  could  do  nothing  else  for ; 
it  was  a  joy  to  think  that  He  who  hears  prayer  is  equally  present 
with  all  his  people,  and  that  though  thousands  of  miles  lie  between 
the  petitioner  and  the  petitioned  for,  the  breath  of  prayer  may  span 
the  distance  and  pour  blessings  on  the  far-off  head.  The  burden 
of  thoughts  and  affections  gathered  during  the  twenty-three  hours, 
was  laid  down  in  the  twenty-fourth  ;  and  Ellen  could  meet  her 
friends  at  the  breakfast-table  with  a  sunshiny  face.  Little  they 
thought  where  her  heart  had  been,  or  where  it  had  got  its  sun 
shine. 

But  notwithstanding  this,  Ellen  had  too  much  to  remember  and 
regret  than  to  be  otherwise  than  sober, — soberer  than  her  friends 
liked.  They  noticed  with  sorrow  that  the  sunshine  wore  off  as  the 
day  rolled  on ; — that  though  ready  to  smile  upon  occasion,  her  face 
always  settled  again  into  a  gravity  they  thought  altogether  unsuit 
able.  Mrs.  Lindsay  fancied  she  knew  the  cause,  and  resolved  to 
break  it  up. 

From  the  first  of  Ellen  s  coming  her  grandmother  had  taken  the 
entire  charge  of  her  toilet.  Whatever  Mrs.  Lindsay's  notions  in 
general  might  be  as  to  the  propriety  of  young  girls  learning  to 
take  care  of  themselves,  Ellen  was  much  too  precious  a  plaything 
to  be  trusted  to  any  other  hands,  even  her  own.  At  eleven  o'clock 
regularly  every  day  she  went  to  her  grandmother's  dressing-room 
for  a  very  elaborate  bathing  and  dressing ;  though  not  a  very  long 
one,  for  all  Mrs.  Lindsay's  were  energetic.  Now,  without  any  hint 
as  to  the  reason,  she  was  directed  to  come  to  her  grandmother  an 
hour  before  the  breakfast  time,  to  go  through  then  the  course  of 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  541 

cold-water,  sponging,  and  hair-gloving,  that  Mrs.  Lindsay  was  ac 
customed  to  administer  at  eleven.  Ellen  heard  in  silence,  and 
obeyed,  but  made  up  her  hour  by  rising  earlier  than  usual,  so  as  to 
have  it  before  going  to  her  grandmother.  It  was  a  little  difficult 
at  first,  but  she  soon  got  into  the  habit  of  it,  though  the  mornings 
were  dark  and  cold.  After  a  while  it  chanced  that  this  came  to 
Mrs.  Lindsay's  ears,  and  Ellen  was  told  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as 
she  was  out  of  bed  in  the  morning. 

"But  grandmother,"  said  Ellen, — "I  am  up  a  great  while 
before  you  ;  I  should  find  you  asleep  ;  don't  I  come  soon  enough  ?" 

"  What  do  you  get  up  so  early  for  ?" 

"  You  know,  ma'am — I  told  you  some  time  ago.  I  want  some 
time  to  myself." 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you  to  be  up  so  long  before  breakfast,  and 
in  these  cold  mornings.  Do  not  rise  in  future  till  I  send  for 
you." 

"But  grandmother, — that  is  the  only  time  for  me — there  isn't 
an  hour  after  breakfast  that  I  can  have  regularly  to  myself;  and  I 
cannot  be  happy  if  I  do  not  have  some  time." 

"  Let  it  be  as  I  said,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  Couldn't  you  let  me  come  to  you  at  eleven  o'clock  again, 
ma'am?  do,  grandmother!" 

Mrs.  Lindsay  touched  her  lips ;  a  way  of  silencing  her  that 
Ellen  particularly  disliked,  and  which  both  Mr.  Lindsay  and  his 
mother  was  accustomed  to  use. 

She  thought  a  great  deal  on  the  subject,  and  came  soberly  to  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  her  duty  to  disobey.  "  I  promised  John," 
she  said  to  herself, — "  I  will  never  break  that  promise  !  I'll  do  any 
thing  rather.  And  besides,  if  I  had  not,  it  is  just  as  much  my 
duty — a  duty  that  no  one  here  has  a  right  to  command  me  against. 
I  will  do  what  I  think  right,  come  what  may." 

She  could  not  without  its  coming  to  the  knowledge  of  her 
grandmother.  A  week  or  rather  two  after  the  former  conversation, 
Mrs.  Lindsay  made  inquiries  of  Mason,  her  woman,  who  was 
obliged  to  confess  that  Miss  Ellen's  light  was  always  burning 
when  she  went  to  call  her. 

"Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  the  same  day, — "have  you  obeyed 
me  in  what  I  told  you  the  other  morning  ? — about  lying  in  bed  till 
you  are  sent  for?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  You  are  frank  !  to  venture  to  tell  me  so.  Why  have  you  dis 
obeyed  me?" 

"  Because,  grandmother,  I  thought  it  was  right." 

"  You  think  it  is  right  to  disobey,  do  you?" 


"  Yes,  ma'am,  if- 
"If  what?" 


46 


542  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  mean,  grandmother,  there  is  One  I  must  obey  even  before 
you." 

"If  what?"  repeated  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"Please  do  not  ask  me,  grandmother;  I  don't  want  to  say 
that." 

"Say  it  at  once,  Ellen!" 

"  I  thing  it  is  right  to  disobey  if  I  am  told  to  do  what  is  wrong," 
said  Ellen  in  a  low  voice. 

II  Are  you  to  be  the  judge  of  right  and  wrong?" 
"No,  ma'am." 

"Who  then?" 

"  The  Bible." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  reason,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "  that  I 
cannot  be  very  angry  with  you.  Ellen,  I  repeat  the  order  I  gave 
you  the  other  day.  Promise  me  to  obey." 

II 1  cannot,  grandmother j  I  must  have  that  hour;  I  cannot  do 
without  it." 

"  So  must  I  be  obeyed,  I  assure  you,  Ellen.  You  will  sleep  in 
my  room  henceforth." 

Ellen  heard  her  in  despair ;  she  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Ap 
pealing  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  There  was,  as  she  said,  no  time 
she  could  count  upon  after  breakfast.  During  the  whole  day  and 
evening  she  was  either  busy  with  her  studies  or  masters,  or  in  the 
company  of  her  grandmother  or  Mr.  Lindsay ;  and  if  not  there, 
liable  to  be  called  to  them  at  any  moment.  Her  grandmother's 
expedient  for  increasing  her  cheerfulness  had  marvellous  ill  success. 
Ellen  drooped  under  the  sense  of  wrong,  as  well  as  the  loss  of  her 
greatest  comfort.  For  two  days  she  felt  and  looked  forlorn ;  and 
smiling  now  seemed  to  be  a  difficult  matter.  Mr.  Lindsay  happened 
to  be  remarkably  busy  those  two  days,  so  that  he  did  not  notice 
what  was  going  on.  At  the  end  of  them,  however,  in  the  evening, 
he  called  Ellen  to  him,  and  whisperingly  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"Nothing,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "only  grandmother  will  not  let  me 
do  something  I  cannot  be  happy  without  doing." 

"  Is  it  one  of  the  things  you  want  to  do  because  it  is  right, 
whether  it  is  convenient  or  not?"  he  asked  smiling.  Ellen  could 
not  smile. 

"  Oh,  father,"  she  whispered,  putting  her  face  close  to  his,  "if 
you  would  only  get  grandmother  to  let  me  do  it !" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  sob,  and  Mr.  Lindsay  felt  her 
warm  tears  upon  his  neck.  He  had,  however,  far  too  much  respect 
for  his  mother  to  say  any  thing  against  her  proceedings  while  Ellen 
was  present ;  he  simply  answered  that  she  must  do  whatever  her 
grandmother  said.  But  when  Ellen  had  left  the  room,  which  she 
did  immediately,  he  took  the  matter  up.  Mrs.  Lindsay  explained, 
and  insisted  that  Ellen  was  spoiling  herself  for  life  and  the  world 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  543 

by  a  set  of  dull  religious  notions  that  were  utterly  unfit  for  a  child  ; 
that  she  would  very  soon  get  over  thinking  about  her  habit  of 
morning  prayer,  and  would  then  do  much  better.  Mr.  Lindsay 
looked  grave;  but  with  Ellen's  tears  yet  wet  upon  his  cheek,  he 
could  not  dismiss  the  matter  so  lightly,  and  persisted  in  desiring  that 
his  mother  should  give  up  the  point,  which  she  utterly  refused  to  do. 

Ellen  meanwhile  had  fled  to  her  own  room.  The  moonlight  was 
quietly  streaming  in  through  the  casement ;  it  looked  to  her  like 
an  old  friend.  She  threw  herself  down  on  the  floor,  close  by  the 
glass,  and  after  some  tears,  which  she  could  not  help  shedding,  she 
raised  her  head  and  looked  thoughtfully  out.  It  was  very  seldom 
now  that  she  had  a  chance  of  the  kind  j  she  was  rarely  alone  but 
when  she  was  busy. 

"  I  wonder  if  that  same  moon  is  this  minute  shining  in  at  the 
glass  door  at  home  ? — no,  to  be  sure  it  can't  this  minute — what  am 
I  thinking  of? — but  it  was  there  or  will  be  there — let  me  see — east 
— west — it  was  there  some  time  this  morning  I  suppose ;  looking 
right  into  our  old  sitting-room.  Oh,  moon,  I  wish  I  was  in  your 
place  for  once,  to  look  in  there  too  !  But  it  is  all  empty  now — 
there's  nobody  there — Mr.  Humphreys  would  be  in  his  study — how 
lonely,  how  lonely  he  must  be  !  Oh,  I  wish  I  was  back  there  with 
him  ! — John  isn't  there  though — no  matter — he  will  be, — and  I 
could  do  so  much  for  Mr.  Humphreys  in  the  meanwhile.  He  must 
miss  me.  I  wonder  where  John  is — nobody  writes  to  me  ;  I  should 
think  some  one  might.  I  wonder  if  I  am  ever  to  see  them  again. 
Oh,  he  will  come  to  see  me  surely  before  he  goes  home  ! — but  then 
he  will  have  to  go  away  without  me  again — I  am  fast  now — fast 
enough — but  oh  !  am  I  to  be  separated  from  them  for  ever  !  Well ! 
— I  shall  see  them  in  heaven  !" 

It  was  a  "  Well"  of  bitter  acquiescence,  and  washed  down  with 
bitter  tears. 

"Is  it  my  bonny  Miss  Ellen?"  said  the  voice  of  the  house 
keeper  coming  softly  in  ; — "  is  my  bairn  sitting  a'  her  lane  i'  the 
dark?  Why  are  ye  no  wi'  the  rest  o'  the  folk,  Miss  Ellen?" 

"  I  like  to  be  alone,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  the  moon  shines  in  here 
nicely." 

"  Greeting  !"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  drawing  nearer, — "  I  ken 
it  by  the  sound  o'  your  voice ; — greeting  eenow  !  Are  ye  no  weel, 
Miss  Ellen  ?  What  vexes  my  bairn  ?  Oh,  but  your  father  would 
be  vexed  an  he  kenned  it !" 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Allen,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  shall  get  over  it 
directly  ;  don't  say  any  thing  about  it." 

"But  I'm  wae  to  see  you,"  said  the  kind  old  woman,  stooping 
down  and  stroking  the  head  that  again  Ellen  had  bowed  on  her 
knees  ; — "  will  ye  no  tell  me  what  vexes  ye  ?  Ye  suld  be  as  blithe 
as  a  bird  the  lang  day." 


544  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  can't,  Mrs.  Allen,  while  I  am  away  from  my  friends." 

"Friends!  and  wha  has  mair  frinds  than  yoursel,  Miss  Ellen, 
or  better  frinds  ? — father  and  mither  and  a'  ;  where  wad  ye  find 
thae  that  will  love  you  mair." 

"  Ah,  but  I  haven't  my  brother  !"  sobbed  Ellen. 

"  Your  brither,  Miss  Ellen?     An'  wha's  he  ?" 

"  He's  every  thing,  Mrs.  Allen  !  he's  everything!  I  shall  never 
be  happy  without  him  ! — never!  never!" 

"  Hush,  dear  Miss  Ellen  !  for  the  love  of  a'  that's  gude  ; — 
dinna  talk  that  gate !  and  dinna  greet  sae  1  your  father  wad  be 
sair  vexed  to  hear  ye  or  to  see  ye." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  it  is  true." 

"  It  may  be  sae ;  but  dear  Miss  Ellen,  dinna  let  it  come  to  your 
father's  ken  ;  ye're  his  very  heart's  idol ;  he  disna  merit  aught  but 
gude  frae  ye." 

"  I  know  it,  Mrs.  Allen,"  said  Ellen  weeping,  and  so  I  do  love 
him — better  than  any  body  in  the  world,  except  two.  But  oh  !  I 
want  my  brother! — I  don't  know  how  to  be  happy  or  good  either 
without  him.  I  want  him  all  the  while." 

"  Miss  Ellen,  I  kenned  and  loved  your  dear  mither  weel  for 
mony  a  day — will  ye  mind  if  I  speak  a  word  to  her  bairn  ?" 

"No,  dear  Mrs.  Allen — I'll  thank  you; — did  you  know  my 
mother?" 

"  Wha  suld  if  I  didna  ?  she  was  brought  up  in  my  arms,  and  a 
dear  lassie.  Ye're  no  muckle  like  her,  Miss  Ellen; — ye're  mair 
bonny  than  her ;  and  no  a'  thegither  sae  frack ; — though  she  was 
douce  and  kind  too." 

"  I  wish" — Ellen  began,  and  stopped. 

"  My  dear  bairn,  there  is  Ane  abuve  wha  disposes  a'  things  for 
us ;  and  he  isna  weel  pleased  when  his  children  fash  themselves 
wi'  his  dispensations.  He  has  ta'en  and  placed  you  here,  for  your 
ain  gude  I  trust, — I'm  sure  it's  for  the  gude  of  us  a', — and  if  ye 
haena  a'  things  ye  wad  wish,  Miss  Ellen,  ye  hae  Him ;  dinna  for 
get  that,  my  ain  bairn." 

Ellen  returned  heartily  and  silently  the  embrace  of  the  old 
Scotchwoman,  and  when  she  left  her,  set  herself  to  follow  her 
advice.  She  tried  to  gather  her  scattered  thoughts  and  smooth 
her  ruffled  feelings,  in  using  this  quiet  time  to  the  best  advantage. 
At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  felt  like  another  creature ;  and 
began  to  refresh  herself  with  softly  singing  some  of  her  old 
hymns. 

The  argument  which  was  carried  on  in  the  parlour  sunk  at 
length  into  silence  without  coming  to  any  conclusion. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Ellen  ?"  Mrs.  Lindsay  asked  of  a  servant  that 
came  in. 

"  She  is  up  in  her  room,  ma'am,  singing." 


"  Mr.  Lindsay  stood  still  at  the  door.' 


Page  545. 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  545 

*'  Tell  her  I  want  her." 

«  NO— stop,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  ; — "  I'll  go  myself." 
Her  door  was  a  little  ajar,  and  he  softly  opened  it  without  dis 
turbing  her.     Ellen  was  still  sitting  on  the  floor  before  the  window, 
looking  out  through  it,  and  in  rather  a  low  tone  singing  the  last 
verse  of  the  hymn  "  Rock  of  Ages." 

While  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath,-— 
When  my  eyelids  close  in  death, — 
When  I  rise  to  worlds  unknown, 
And  behold  thee  on  thy  throne, — 
Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me, 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee  ! 

Mr.  Lindsay  stood  still  at  the  door.  Ellen  paused  a  minute, 
and  then  sung  "  Jerusalem  my  happy  home."  Her  utterance  was 
so  distinct  that  he  heard  every  word.  He  did  not  move  till  she 
had  finished,  and  then  he  came  softly  in. 

"  Singing  songs  to  the  moon,  Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  started  and  got  up  from  the  floor. 

"  No,  sir ;  I  was  singing  them  to  myself." 

"  Not  entirely,  for  I  heard  the  last  one.  Why  do  you  make 
yourself  sober  singing  such  sad  things  ?' ' 

"  I  don't,  sir;  they  are  not  sad  to  me;  they  are  delightful.  I 
love  them  dearly." 

u  How  came  you  to  love  them  ?  it  is  not  natural  for  a  child  of 
your  age.  What  do  you  love  them  for,  my  little  daughter  ?" 

"  Oh,  sir,  there  are  a  great  many  reasons, — I  don't  know  how 
many." 

"  I  will  have  patience,  Ellen  ;    I  want  to  hear  them  all." 

"  I  love  them  because  I  love  to  think  of  the  things  the  hymns 
are  about, — I  love  the  tunes,  dearly, — and  I  like  both  the  words 
and  the  tunes  better,  I  believe,  because  I  have  sung  them  so  often 
with  friends." 

"  Humph  !  I  guessed  as  much.  Isn't  that  the  strongest  reason 
of  the  three  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  I  don't  think  it  is." 

"  Is  all  your  heart  in  America,  Ellen,  or  have  you  any  left  to 
bestow  on  us  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Not  very  much  !" 

"  I  love  you,  father,"  said  Ellen,  laying  her  cheek  gently  along 
side  of  his. 

"And  your  grandmother,  Ellen?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  clasping 
his  arms  around  her. 

"Yes,  sir." 

But  he  well  understood  that  the  "yes"  was  fainter. 

"  And  your  aunt? — speak,  Ellen." 
kk  46* 


546  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  don't  love  her  as  much  as  I  wish  I  did,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I 
love  her  a  little,  I  suppose.  Oh,  why  do  you  ask  me  such  a  hard 
question,  father  ?' ' 

"  That  is  something  you  have  nothing  to  do  with,"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay,  half  laughing.  "Sit  down  here,"  he  added,  placing  her 
on  his  knee,  "  and  sing  to  me  again." 

Ellen  was  heartened  by  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  pleased  with 
the  request.  She  immediately  sang  with  great  spirit  a  little 
Methodist  hymn  she  had  learned  when  a  mere  child.  The  wild  air 
and  simple  words  singularly  suited  each  other. 

0  Canaan — Bright  Canaan — 

1  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan. 

0  Canaan  !  it  is  my  happy,  happy  home — 

1  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan. 

"  Does  that  sound  sad,  sir?" 

"  Why  yes, — I  think  it  does,  rather,  Ellen.  Does  it  make  you 
feel  merry?" 

"Not  merry,  sir, — it  isn't  merry ;  but  I  like  it  ve~y  much." 

"  The  tune  or  the  words?" 

"Both,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  the  land  of  Canaan  ?" 

"  Heaven,  sir." 

"  And  do  you  like  to  think  about  that  ?  at  your  age  ?" 

"Why  certainly,  sir!  Why  not?" 

"  Why  do  you?" 

"  Because  it  is  a  bright  and  happy  place,"  said  Ellen,  gravely  ; 
— "  where  there  is  no  darkness,  nor  sorrow,  nor  death,  neither  pain 
nor  crying  ; — and  my  mother  is  there,  and  my  dear  Alice,  and  my 
Saviour  is  there  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  be  there  too." 

"You  are  shedding  tears  now,  Ellen." 

.  "  And  if  I  am,  sir,  it  is  not  because  I  am  unhappy.  It  doesn't 
make  me  unhappy  to  think  of  these  things — it  makes  me  glad  ; 
and  the  more  I  think  of  them  the  happier  I  am." 

"  You  are  a  strange  child.  I  am  afraid  your  grandmother  is 
right,  and  that  you  are  hurting  yourself  with  poring  over  serious 
matters  that  you  are  too  young  for." 

"  She  would  not  think  so  if  she  knew,"  said  Ellen,  sighing.  "  I 
should  not  be  happy  at  all  without  that,  and  you  would  not  love 
me  half  so  well,  nor  she  either.  Oh,  father,"  she  exclaimed, 
pressing  his  hand  in  both  her  own  and  laying  her  face  upon  it, — 
"do  not  let  me  be  hindered  in  that!  forbid  me  anything  you 
please,  but  not  that !  the  better  I  learn  to  please  my  best  Friend, 
the  better  I  shall  please  you." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  '  your  best  friend  ?' ' 

"  The  Lord  my  Redeemer." 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  547 

"  Where  did  you  get  these  notions?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  after  a 
short  pause. 

u  From  my  mother,  first,  sir." 

"  She  had  none  of  them  when  I  knew  her." 

"She  had  afterwards,  then,  sir;  and  oh  !" — Ellen  hesitated, — 
"  I  wish  every  body  had  them  too  1" 

"My  little  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  affectionately  kissing 
the  cheeks  and  eyes  which  were  moist  again, — "  I  shall  indulge 
you  in  this  matter  But  you  must  keep  your  brow  clear,  or  I  shall 
revoke  my  grant.  And  you  belong  to  me  now ;  and  there  are 
some  things  I  want  you  to  forget,  and  not  remember, — you  under 
stand  ?  Now  don't  sing  songs  to  the  moon  any  more  to-night — 
good-night,  my  daughter." 

"  They  think  religion  is  a  strange  melancholy  thing,"  said  Ellen 
to  herself  as  she  went  to  bed ; — "  I  must  not  give  them  reason  to 
think  so — I  must  let  my  rushlight  burn  bright — I  must  take  care 
— I  never  had  more  need  !" 

And  with  an  earnest  prayer  for  help  to  do  so,  she  laid  her  head 
on  the  pillow. 

Mr.  Lindsay  told  his  mother  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  let 
Ellen  have  her  way  for  a  while,  and  begged  that  she -might  return 
to  her  old  room  and  hours  again.  Mrs.  Lindsay  would  not  hear 
of  it.  Ellen  had  disobeyed  her  orders,  she  said ; — she  must  take 
the  consequences. 

"  She  is  a  bold  little  hussy  to  venture  it,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — 
"  but  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  naughtiness  in  her  heart." 

"No,  not  a  bit.  I  could  not  be  angry  with  her.  It  is  only 
those  preposterous  notions  she  has  got  from  somebody  or  other." 

Mr.  Lindsay  said  no  more.  Next  morning  he  asked  Ellen  pri 
vately  what  she  did  the  first  thing  after  breakfast.  Practise  on 
the  piano  for  an  hour,  she  said. 

"  Couldn't  you  do  it  at  any  other  time?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  could  practise  in  the  afternoon,  only  grandmother 
likes  to  have  me  with  her." 

"  Let  it  be  done  then,  Ellen,  in  future." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  with  the  hour  after  breakfast,  sir?" 

"  Whatever  you  please,"  said  he  smiling. 

Ellen  thanked  him  in  the  way  she  knew  he  best  liked,  and  grate 
fully  resolved  he  should  have  as  little  cause  as  possible  to  complain 
of  her.  Very  little  cause  indeed  did  he  or  any  one  else  have.  No 
fault  could  be  found  with  her  performance  of  duty  ;  and  her  cheer 
fulness  was  constant  and  unvarying.  She  remembered  her  brother's 
recipe  against  loneliness  and  made  use  of  it ;  she  remembered  Mrs. 
Allen's  advice  and  followed  it ;  she  grasped  the  promises,  "  he  that 
cometh  to  me  shall  never  hunger," — and  "  seek  and  ye  shall  find," 
— precious  words  that  never  yet  disappointed  any  one  j  and  though 


548  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

tears  might  often  fall  that  nobody  knew  of,  and  she  might  not  be 
so  merry  as  her  friends  would  have  liked  to  see  her ;  though  her 
cheerfulness  was  touched  with  sobriety,  they  could  not  complain ; 
for  her  brow  was  always  unruffled,  her  voice  clear,  her  smile  ready. 
After  a  while  she  was  restored  to  her  own  sleeping-room  again, 
and  permitted  to  take  up  her  former  habits. 


CHAPTER  LI. 

Other  days  come  back  on  me 
With  recollected  music. 

BYRON. 

THOUGH  nothing  could  be  smoother  than  the  general  course  of 
her  life,  Ellen's  principles  were  still  now  and  then  severely  tried. 

Of  all  in  the  house,  next  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  she  liked  the  company 
of  the  old  housekeeper  best.  She  was  a  simple-minded  Christian, 
a  most  benevolent  and  kind-hearted,  and  withal  sensible  and  re 
spectable  person ;  devotedly  attached  to  the  family,  and  very  fond 
of  Ellen  in  particular.  Ellen  loved,  when  she  could,  to  get  alone 
with  her,  and  hear  her  talk  of  her  mother's  young  days;  and  she 
loved  furthermore,  and  almost  as  much,  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Allen  of 
her  own.  Ellen  could  to  no  one  else  lisp  a  word  on  the  subject, 
and  without  dwelling  directly  on  those  that  she  loved,  she  delighted 
to  tell  over  to  an  interested  listener  the  things  she  had  done,  seen, 
and  felt,  with  them. 

"  I  wish  that  child  was  a  little  more  like  other  people,"  said 
Lady  Keith  one  evening  in  the  latter  end  of  the  winter. 

"  Humph  1"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "  I  don't  remember  at  this  mo 
ment  any  one  that  I  think  she  could  resemble  without  losing  more 
than  she  gained." 

"  Oh,  it's  of  no  use  to  talk  to  you  about  Ellen,  brother !  You 
can  take  up  things  fast  enough  when  you  find  them  out,  but  you 
never  will  see  with  other  people's  eyes." 

"  What  do  your  eyes  see,  Catherine  ?" 

"  She  is  altogether  too  childish  for  her  years ;  she  is  really  a 
baby." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  smiling;  "  you  should  ask  M. 
Muller  about  that.  He  was  holding  forth  to  me  for  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  the  other  day,  and  could  not  stint  in  her  praises.  She  will 
go  on,  he  says,  just  as  fast  as  he  pleases  to  take  her." 

"  Oh,  yes — in  intelligence  and  so  on,  I  know  she  is  not  wanting; 
that  is  not  what  I  mean." 

"  She  is  perfectly  lady-like  always,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  Yes,  I  know  that, — and  perfectly  child-like  too." 


THE    WIDE,  WIDE   WORLD.  549 

"  I  like  that-/'  said  Mr.  Lindsay ;  "  I  have  no  fancy  for  your 
grown-up  little  girls." 

"  Well !"  said  Lady  Keith  in  despair,  "  you  may  like  it;  but  I 
tell  you  she  is  too  much  of  a  child  nevertheless, — in  other  ways. 
She  hasn't  an  idea  of  a  thousand  things.  It  was  only  the  other 
day  she  was  setting  out  to  go,  at  mid-day, — through  the  streets 
with  a  basket  on  her  arm — some  of  that  fruit  for  M.  Muller  I 
believe." 

"  If  she  has  any  fault,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "  it  is  want  of  pride, 
— but  I  don't  know — I  can't  say  I  wish  she  had  more  of  it." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course !  I  suppose  not.  And  it  doesn't  take  any 
thing  at  all  to  make  the  tears  come  in  her  eyes ;  the  other  day  I 
didn't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  be  vexed  at  the  way  she  went  on 
with  a  kitten,  for  half  an  hour  or  more.  I  wish  you  had  seen  her  ! 
I  am  not  sure  she  didn't  cry  over  that.  Now  I  suppose  the  next 
thing,  brother,  you  will  go  and  make  her  a  present  of  one." 

"  If  you  have  no  heavier  charges  to  bring,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay 
smiling,  "  I'll  take  breath  and  think  about  it." 

"But  she  isn't  like  any  body  else, — she  don't  care  for  young 
companions, — she  don't  seem  to  fancy  any  one  out  of  the  family 
unless  it  is  old  Mrs.  Allen,  and  she  is  absurd  about  her.  You 
know  she  is  not  very  well  lately,  and  Ellen  goes  to  see  her  I  know 
every  day,  regularly  ;  and  there  are  the  Gordons  and  Carpenters 
and  Murrays  and  Mclntoshes — she  sees  them  continually,  but  I 
don't  think  she  takes  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  in  thpir  company. 
The  fact  is,  she  is  too  sober." 

"  She  has  as  sweet  a  smile  as  I  ever  saw,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — 
"  and  as  hearty  a  laugh,  when  she  does  laugh  ;  she  is  none  of  your 
gigglers." 

"  But  when  she  does  laugh,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  it  is  not  when 
other  people  do.  I  think  she  is  generally  grave  when  there  is  most 
merriment  around  her." 

"I  love  to  hear  her  laugh,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay;  "it  is  in  such 
a  low  sweet  tone,  and  seems  to  come  so  from  the  very  spring  of 
enjoyment.  Yet  I  must  say  I  think  Catherine  is  half  right." 

"  With  half  an  advocate,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  I  shall  not  effect 
much." 

Mr.  Lindsay  uttered  a  low  whistle.  At  this  moment  the  door 
opened,  and  Ellen  came  gravely  in,  with  a  book  in  her  hand. 

"  Come  here,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  holding  out  his  hand, — 
"  here's  your  aunt  says  you  don't  like  any  body — how  is  it?  are 
you  of  an  unsociable  disposition?" 

Ellen's  smile  would  have  been  a  sufficient  apology  to  him  for  a 
much  graver  fault. 

"  Any  body  out  of  the  house,  I  meant,"  said  Lady  Keith. 

"  Speak,  Ellen,  and  clear  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 


550  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  like  some  people,"  said  Ellen  smiling; — "I  don't  think  1 
like  a  great  many  people  very  much." 

"  But  you  don't  like  young  people,"  said  Lady  Keith, — "that 
is  what  I  complain  of;  and  it's  unnatural.  Now  there's  the  other 
day,  when  you  went  to  ride  with  Miss  Gordon  and  her  brother,  and 
Miss  MacPherson  and  her  brother — I  heard  you  say  you  were  not 
sorry  to  get  home.  Now  where  will  you  find  pleasanter  young 
people?" 

"  Why  don't  you  like  them,  Ellen?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  do  like  them,  ma'am,  tolerably." 

"What  does  'tolerably'  mean?" 

"  I  should  have  liked  my  ride  better  the  other  day,"  said  Ellen, 
"  if  they  had  talked  about  sensible  things." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Lady  Keith.  "  Society  cannot  be  made  up 
of  M.  Mullers." 

"What  did  they  talk  about,  Ellen?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  who 
seemed  amused. 

"  About  partners  in  dancing, — at  least  the  ladies  did, — and 
dresses,  and  different  gentlemen,  and  what  this  one  said  and  the 
other  one  said, — it  wasn't  very  amusing  to  me." 

Mr.  Lindsay  laughed.  "  And  the  gentlemen,  Ellen ;  how  did 
you  like  them  ?" 

"  I  didn't  like  them  particularly,  sir." 

"  What  have  you  against  them,  Ellen  ?" 

"I  don't  wish  to  say  any  thing  against  them,  aunt  Keith." 

"  Come,  come, — speak  out." 

11 1  didn't  like  their  talking,  sir,  any  better  than  the  ladies,  and 
besides  that,  I  don't  think  they  are  very  polite." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  highly  amused. 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  very  polite,"  said  Ellen,  "for  them  to  sit 
still  on  their  horses  when  I  went  out,  and  let  Brocklesby  help  me 
to  mount.  They  took  me  up  at  M.  Muller's,  you  know,  sir;  M. 
Muller  had  been  obliged  to  go  out  and  leave  me." 

Mr.  Lindsay  threw  a  glance  at  his  sister  which  she  rather  re 
sented. 

"  And  pray  what  do  you  expect,  Ellen  ?"  said  she.  "  You  are 
a  mere  child — do  you  think  you  ought  to  be  treated  as  a  woman  ?" 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  treated  as  any  thing  but  a  child,  aunt  Keith." 

But  Ellen  remembered  well  one  day  at  home  when  John  had  been 
before  the  door  on  horseback  and  she  had  run  out  to  give  him  a 
message, — his  instantly  dismounting  to  hear  it.  "  And  I  was  more 
a  child  then,"  she  thought, — "  and  he  wasn't  a  stranger." 

"  Whom  do  you  like,  Ellen  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Lindsay,  who  "looked 
extremely  satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  examination. 

« I  like  M.  Muller,  sir." 

"  Nobody  else  ?" 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  551 

"Mrs.  Allen." 

"  There  !"  exclaimed  Lady  Keith. 

"  Have  you  come  from  her  room  just  now?" 

«  Yes,  sir." 

"  What's  your  fancy  for  going  there  ?" 

"  I  like  to  hear  her  talk,  sir,  and  to  read  to  her ;  it  gives  her  a 
great  deal  of  pleasure  ; — and  I  like  to  talk  to  her." 

"  What  do  you  talk  about?" 

"She  talks  to  me  about  my  mother" — 

"And  you?" 

"I  like  to  talk  to  her  about  old  times,"  said  Ellen,  changing 
colour. 

"  Profitable  conversation  !"   said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"You  will  not  go  to  her  room  any  more,  Ellen,"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay. 

In  great  dismay  at  what  Mrs.  Allen  would  think,  Ellen  began  a 
remonstrance.  But  only  one  word  was  uttered  \  Mr.  Lindsay' s 
hand  was  upon  her  lips.  He  next  took  the  book  she  still  held. 

"  Is  this  what  you  have  been  reading  to  her?" 

Ellen  bowed  in  answer. 

"Who  wrote  all  this?" 

Before  she  could  speak  he  had  turned  to  the  front  leaf  and  read, 
"  To  my  little  sister."  He  quietly  put  the  book  in  his  pocket;  and 
Ellen  as  quietly  left  the  room. 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  said  that,"  said  Lady  Keith.  "  You  are 
quick  enough  when  you  see  any  thing  for  yourself,  but  you  never 
will  believe  other  people." 

"  There  is  nothing  wrong  here,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "  only  I  will 
not  have  her  going  back  to  those  old  recollections  she  is  so  fond  of. 
I  wish  I  could  make  her  drink  Lethe  !" 

"  What  is  the  book  ?"   said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  he,  turning  it  over, — "  except  it  is  from 
that  person  that  seems  to  have  obtained  such  an  ascendency  over 
her — it  is  full  of  his  notes — it  is  a  religious  work." 

"  She  reads  a  great  deal  too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing,"  said 
Mrs.  Lindsay.  "I  wish  you  would  contrive  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 
You  can  do  it  better  than  any  one  else  ;  she  is  very  fond  of  you." 

That  was  not  a  good  argument.  Mr.  Lindsay  was  silent ;  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  conversation  held  that  evening  in  Ellen's 
room,  and  to  certain  other  things ;  and  perhaps  he  was  thinking 
that  if  religion  had  much  to  do  with  making  her  what  she  was,  it 
was  a  tree  that  bore  good  fruits. 

"I  think,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "that  is  one  reason  why  she  takes 
so  little  to  the  young  people  she  sees.  I  have  seen  her  sit  perfectly 
grave  when  they  were  all  laughing  and  talking  around  her — it 
really  looks  singular — I  don't  like  it — I  presume  she  would  have 


552  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

thought  it  wicked  to  laugh  with  them.  And  the  other  night ; — I 
missed  her  from  the  younger  part  of  the  company,  where  she 
should  have  been,  and  there  she  was  in  the  other  room  with  M. 
Muller  and  somebody  else, — gravely  listening  to  their  conver 
sation  !" 

"  I  saw  her,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  smiling, — "  and  she  looked  any 
thing  but  dull  or  sober.  I  would  rather  have  her  gravity,  after 
all,  Catherine,  than  any  body  else's  merriment  I  know.'* 

"  I  wish  she  had  never  been  detained  in  America  after  the  time 
when  she  should  have  come  to  us,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  wish  the  woman  had  what  she  deserves  that  kept  back  the 
letters  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  Yes  indeed  !"  said  his  sister  ; — "  and  I  have  been  in  continual 
fear  of  a  visit  from  that  very  person  that  you  say  gave  Ellen  the 
book." 

"  He  isn't  here  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  I  don't  know  where  he  is; — but  he  was  on  this  side  of  the 
water,  at  the  time  Ellen  came  on  ;  so  she  told  m  j." 

"  I  wish  he  was  in  Egypt !" 

"  I  don't  intend  he  shall  see  her  if  he  comes,"  said  Lady  Keith, 
"  if  I  can  possibly  prevent  it.  I  gave  Porterfield  orders,  if  any 
one  asked  for  her,  to  tell  me  immediately,  and  not  her  upon  any 
account ;  but  nobody  has  come  hitherto,  and  I  am  in  hopes  none 
will." 

Mr.  Lindsay  rose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  folded 
arms  in  a  very  thoughtful  style. 

Ellen  with  some  difficulty  bore  herself  as  usual  throughout  the 
next  day  and  evening,  though  constantly  on  the  rack  to  get  pos 
session  of  her  book  again.  It  was  not  spoken  of  nor  hinted  at. 
When  another  morning  came  she  could  stand  it  no  longer ;  she 
went  soon  after  breakfast  into  Mr.  Lindsay's  study,  where  he  was 
writing.  Ellen  came  behind  him  and  laying  both  her  arms  over 
his  shoulders,  said  in  his  ear, 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  my  book  again,  father?" 

A  kiss  was  her  only  answer.     Ellen  waited. 

"  Go  to  the  bookcases,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  presently,  "  or  to  the 
bookstore,  and  choose  out  any  thing  you  like,  Ellen,  instead." 

"  I  wouldn't  exchange  it  for  all  that  is  in  them  !"  she  answered 
with  some  warmth,  and  with  the  husky  feeling  coming  in  her 
throat.  Mr.  Lindsay  said  nothing. 

"  At  any  rate,"  whispered  Ellen  after  a  minute,  "you  will  not 
destroy  it,  or  do  any  thing  to  it  ? — you  will  take  care  of  it  and  let 
me  have  it  again,  won't  you,  sir?" 

"  I  will  try  to  take  care  of  you,  my  daughter." 

Again  Ellen  paused ;    and  then  came  round  in  front  of  him  to 

O  r  / 

plead  to  more  purpose. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  553 

"  I  will  do  any  thing  in  the  world  for  you,  sir,"  she  said  earn 
estly,  "  if  you  will  give  me  my  book  again." 

"  You  must  do  any  thing  in  the  world  for  me,"  said  he,  smiling 
and  pinching  her  cheek, — "  without  that." 

"  But  it  is  mine  !"  Ellen  ventured  to  urge,  though  trembling. 

"  Come,  come  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  his  tone  changing, — "  and 
you  are  mine,  you  must  understand." 

Ellen  stood  silent,  struggling,  between  the  alternate  surgings  of 
passion  and  checks  of  prudence  and  conscience.  But  at  last  the 
wave  rolled  too  high  and  broke.  Clasping  her  hands  to  her  face, 
she  exclaimed,  not  indeed  violently,  but  with  sufficient  energy  of 
expression,  "  Oh,  it's  not  right ! — it's  not  right  1" 

u  G-o  to  your  room  and  consider  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay.  "  I 
do  not  wish  to  see  you  again  to-day,  Ellen." 

Ellen  was  wretched.  Not  from  grief  at  her  loss  merely ;  that 
she  could  have  borne ;  that  had  not  even  the  greatest  share  in  her 
distress  ;  she  was  at  war  with  herself.  Her  mind  was  in  a  perfect 
turmoil.  She  had  been  a  passionate  child  in  earlier  days  ;  under 
religion's  happy  reign  that  had  long  ceased  to  be  true  of  her;  it 
was  only  very  rarely  that  she  or  those  around  her  were  led  to  re 
member  or  suspect  that  it  had  once  been  the  case.  She  was  sur 
prised  and  half  frightened  at  herself  now,  to  find  the  strength  of 
the  old  temper  suddenly  roused.  She  was  utterly  and  exceedingly 
out  of  humour  with  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  consequently  with  every 
body  and  every  thing  else ;  consequently,  conscience  would  not 
give  her  a  moment's  peace  ;  consequently,  that  day  was  a  long  and 
bitter  fight  betwixt  right  and  wrong.  Duties  were  neglected,  be 
cause  she  could  not  give  her  mind  to  them ;  then  they  crowded, 
upon  her  notice  at  undue  times  ;  all  was  miserable  confusion.  In 
vain  she  would  try  to  reason  and  school  herself  into  right  feeling ; 
at  one  thought  of  her  lost  treasure  passion  would  come  flooding  up 
and  drown  all  her  reasonings  and  endeavours.  She  grew  absolutely 
weary. 

But  the  day  passed  and  the  night  came,  and  she  went  to  bed 
without  being  able  to  make  up  her  mind ;  and  she  arose  in  the 
morning  to  renew  the  battle. 

"  How  lon    is  this  miserable  condition  to  last !"  she  said  to  her- 


you  spoke  improperly;  he  is  justly  displeased;  and  you  must 
make  an  apology  before  there  can  be  any  peace."  "  But  I  said  the 
truth — it  is  not  right — it  is  not  right !  it  is  wrong  ;  and  am  /  to  go 
and  make  an  apology  ! — I  can't  do  it."  "  Yes,  for  the  wrong  you 
have  done,"  said  conscience, — "  that  is  all  your  concern.  And  he 
has  a  right  to  do  what  he  pleases  with  you  and  yours,  and  he  may 


554  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

have  his  own  reasons  for  what  he  has  done  ;  and  he  loves  you 
very  much,  and  you  ought  not  to  let  him  remain  displeased  with 
you  one  moment  longer  than  you  can  help — he  is  in  the  place  of 
a  father  to  you,  and  you  owe  him  a  child's  duty." 

But  pride  and  passion  still  fought  against  reason  and  conscience, 
and  Ellen  was  miserable.  The  dressing-bell  rang. 

"  There,  I  shall  have  to  go  down  to  breakfast  directly,  and  they 
will  see  how  I  look, — they  will  see  I  am  angry  and  ill-humoured. 
Well  I  ought  to  be  angry  !  But  what  will  they  think  then  of  my 
religion  ? — is  my  rushlight  burning  bright  ?  am  I  honouring  Christ 
now  ? — is  this  the  way  to  make  his  name  and  his  truth  lovely  in 
their  eyes  ?  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  —  I  have  enough  to  humble 
myself  for.  And  all  yesterday,  at  any  rate,  they  know  I  was 
angry." 

Ellen  threw  herself  upon  her  knees ;  and  when  she  rose  up  the 
spirit  of  pride  was  entirely  broken,  and  resentment  had  died  with 
self-justification. 

The  breakfast-bell  rang  before  she  was  quite  ready.  She  was 
afraid  she  could  not  see  Mr.  Lindsay  until  he  should  be  at  the 
table.  "  But  it  shall  make  no  difference,"  she  said  to  herself, — 
"  they  know  I  have  offended  him — it  is  right  they  should  hear 
what  I  have  to  say." 

They  were  all  at  the  table.  But  it  made  no  difference.  Ellen 
went  straight  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  laying  one  hand  timidly  in  his 
and  the  other  on  his  shoulder,  she  at  once  humbly  and  frankly 
confessed  that  she  had  spoken  as  she  ought  not  the  day  before, 
and  that  she  was  very  sorry  she  had  displeased  him,  and  begged 
his  forgiveness.  It  was  instantly  granted. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  as  he  fondly 
embraced  her. 

"  Oh,  no,  sir! — don't  call  me  so — I  am  every  thing  in  the  world 
but  that." 

"  Then  all  the  rest  of  the  world  are  good  children.  Why  didn't 
you  come  to  me  before  ?' ' 

"  Because  I  couldn't,  sir  ; — I  felt  wrong  all  day  yesterday." 

Mr.  Lindsay  laughed  and  kissed  her,  and  bade  her  sit  down  and 
eat  her  breakfast. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  this  that  he  made  her  a  present  of  a 
beautiful  little  watch.  Ellen's  first  look  was  of  great  delight ;  the 
second  was  one  of  curious  doubtful  expression,  directed  to  his  face, 
half  tendering  the  watch  back  to  him  as  she  saw  that  he  under 
stood  her. 

"Why,"  said  he  smiling,  "  do  you  mean  to  say  you  would 
rather  have  that  than  this  ?' ' 

"A  great  deal!" 

"No,"  said  he,  hanging  the  watch  round  her  neck, — "you  shall 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  555 

not  have  it ;  but  you  may  make  your  mind  easy,  for  I  have  it  safe, 
and  it  shall  come  back  to  you  again  some  time  or  other." 

With  this  promise  Ellen  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied. 

The  summer  passed  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  that  wealth,  of 
purse  and  of  affection  both,  could  bestow  upon  their  darling. 
Early  in  the  season  the  family  returned  to  the  Braes.  Ellen  liked 
it  there  much  better  than  in  the  city  ;  there  was  more  that  re 
minded  her  of  old  times.  The  sky  and  the  land,  though  different 
from  those  she  best  loved,  were  yet  but  another  expression  of 
nature's  face ;  it  was  the  same  face  still ;  and  on  many  a  sunbeam 
Ellen  travelled  across  the  Atlantic.*  She  was  sorry  to  lose  M. 
Muller,  but  she  could  not  have  kept  him  in  Edinburgh  ;  he  quitted 
Scotland  about  that  time. 

Other  masters  attended  her  in  the  country,  or  she  went  to  Edin 
burgh  to  attend  them.  Mr.  Lindsay  liked  that  very  well ;  he  was 
often  there  himself,  and  after  her  lesson  he  loved  to  have  her  with 
him  in  the  library  and  at  dinner  and  during  the  drive  home.  Ellen 
liked  it  because  it  was  so  pleasant  to  him  ;  and  besides,  there  was 
a  variety  about  it,  and  the  drives  were  always  her  delight,  and  she 
chose  his  company  at  any  time  rather  than  that  of  her  aunt  and 
grandmother.  So,  many  a  happy  day  that  summer  had  she  and 
Mr.  Lindsay  together  ;  and  many  an  odd  pleasure  in  the  course  of 
them  did  he  find  or  make  for  her.  Sometimes  it  was  a  new  book, 
sometimes  a  new  sight,  sometimes  a  new  trinket.  According  to 
his  promise,  he  had  purchased  her  a  fine  horse ;  and  almost  daily 
Ellen  was  upon  his  back,  and  with  Mr.  Lindsay  in  the  course  of 
the  summer  scoured  the  country  far  and  near.  Every  scene  of  any 
historic  interest  within  a  good  distance  of  "  the  Braes"  was  visited, 
and  some  of  them  again  and  again.  Pleasures  of  all  kinds  were  at 
Ellen's  disposal ;  and  to  her  father  and  grandmother  she  was  truly 
the  light  of  the  eyes. 

And  Ellen  was  happy ;  but  it  was  not  all  these  things,  nor  even 
her  affection  for  Mr.  Lindsay,  that  made  her  so.  He  saw  her  calm 
sunshiny  face  and  busy  happy  demeanour,  and  fancied,  though  he 
had  sometimes  doubts  about  it,  that  she  did  not  trouble  herself 
much  with  old  recollections,  or  would  in  time  get  over  them.  It 
was  not  so.  Ellen  never  forgot ;  and  sometimes  when  she  seemed 
busiest  and  happiest,  it  was  the  thought  of  an  absent  and  distant 
friend  that  was  nerving  her  energies  and  giving  colour  to  her  cheek. 
Still,  as  at  first,  it  was  in  her  hour  alone  that  Ellen  laid  down  care 
and  took  up  submission ;  it  was  that  calmed  her  brow  and  bright 
ened  her  smile.  And  though  now  and  then  she  shed  bitter  tears, 
and  repeated  her  despairing  exclamation,  "  Well !  I  will  see  him  in 


*  "Then  by  a  sunbeam  I  will  climb  to  tbee." — GEORGE  HERBERT. 


556  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

heaven  !"— in  general  she  lived  on  hope,  and  kept  at  the  bottom 
of  her  heart  some  of  her  old  feeling  of  confidence. 

Perhaps  her  brow  grew  somewhat  meeker  and  her  smile  less 
bright  as  the  year  rolled  on.  Months  flew  by,  and  brought  her  no 
letters.  Ellen  marvelled  and  sorrowed  in  vain.  One  day  mourn 
ing  over  it  to  Mrs.  Allen,  the  good  housekeeper  asked  her  if  her 
friends  knew  her  address  ?  Ellen  at  first  said  "  to  be  sure,"  but 
after  a  few  minutes'  reflection  was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  was 
not  certain  about  it.  It  would  have  been  just  like  Mr.  Hum 
phreys  to  lose  sight  entirely  of  such  a  matter,  and  very  natural  for 
her,  in  her  grief  and  confusion  of  mind  and  inexperience,  to  be 
equally  forgetful.  She  wrote  immediately  to  Mr.  Humphreys  and 
supplied  the  defect ;  and  hope  brightened  again.  Once  before  she 
had  written,  on  the  occasion  of  the  refunding  her  expenses.  Mr. 
Lindsay  and  his  mother  were  very  prompt  to  do  this,  though  Ellen 
could  not  tell  what  the  exact  amount  might  be ;  they  took  care  to 
be  on  the  safe  side,  and  sent  more  than  enongh.  Ellen's  mind  had 
changed  since  she  came  to  Scotland ;  she  was  sorry  to  have  the 
money  go ;  she  understood  the  feeling  with  which  it  was  sent  and 
it  hurt  her. 

Two  or  three  months  after  the  date  of  her  last  letter,  she  re 
ceived  at  length  one  from  Mr.  Humphreys,  a  long,  very  kind,  and 
very  wise  one.  She  lived  upon  it  for  a  good  while.  Mr.  Lindsay's 
bills  were  returned.  Mr.  Humphreys  declined  utterly  to  accept 
them,  telling  Ellen  that  he  looked  upon  her  as  his  own  child  up  to 
the  time  that  her  friends  took  her  out  of  his  hands,  and  that  he 
owed  her  more  than  she  owed  him.  Ellen  gave  the  money,  she 
dared  not  give  the  whole  message,  to  Mr.  Lindsay.  The  bills  were 
instantly  and  haughtily  re-enclosed  and  sent  back  to  America. 

Still  nothing  was  heard  from  Mr.  John.    Ellen  wondered,  waited, 
wept ;  sadly  quieted  herself  into  submission,  and  as  time  went  on 
clung  faster  and  faster  to  her  Bible  and  the  refuge  she  found  there' 


CHAPTER  LIL 

ZTon.—Why  didn't  you  show  him  up,  blockhead  ? 
Butler.— Show  him  up,  sir  ?     With  all  my  heart,  sir. 
Up  or  down,  alFs  one  to  me. 

GOOD-NATURED  MAN. 

ONE  evening,  it  was  New  Year's  eve,  a  large  party  was  expected 
at  Mr.  Lindsay's.  Ellen  was  not  of  an  age  to  go  abroad  to  parties, 
but  at  home  her  father  and  grandmother  never  could  bear  to  do 
without  her  when  they  had  company.  Generally,  Ellen  liked  it 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD.  557 

very  much  ;  not  called  upon  to  take  any  active  part  herself,  she 
had  leisure  to  observe  and  enjoy  in  quiet;  and  often  heard  music, 
and  often  by  Mr.  Lindsay's  side  listened  to  conversation,  in  which 
she  took  great  pleasure.  To-night,  however,  it  happened  that 
Ellen's  thoughts  were  running  on  other  things  ;  and  Mrs.  Lindsay  s 
woman,  who  had  come  in  to  dress  her,  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with 
her  grave  looks  and  the  little  concern  she  seemed  to  take  in  what 
was  going  on. 

"  I  wish,  Miss  Ellen,  you'd  please  hold  your  head  up,  and  look 
somewhere— I  don't  know  when  I'll  get  your  hair  done  if  you  keep 
it  down  so."  , 

"  Oh,  Mason,  I  think  that'll  do — it  looks  very  well — you  needn  t 
do  any  thing  more." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Ellen,  but  you  know  it  s  your  grand 
mother  that  must  be  satisfied,  and  she  will  have  it  just  so  ;— 
there,— now  that's  going  to  look  lovely ;— but  indeed  Miss  Ellen 
she  won't  be  pleased  if  you  carry  such  a  soberish  face  down 
stairs,— and  what  will  the  master  say  !  Most  young  ladies  would 
be  as  bright  as  a  bee  at  being  going  to  see  so  many  people,  and 
indeed  it's  what  you  should."  ?> 

"  I  had  rather  see  one  or  two  persons  than  one  or  two  hundred, 
said  Ellen,  speaking  half  to  herself  and  half  to  Mrs.  Mason. 

"Well,  for  pity's  sake,  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  if  you  can,  don't  look 
as  if  it  was  a  funeral  it  was.  There  !  'tain't  much  trouble  to  fix 
you,  anyhow— if  you'd  only  care  a  little  more  about  it,  it  would 
be  a  blessing.  Stop  till  I  fix  this  lace.  The  master  will  call  you 
his  white  rose-bud  to-night,  sure  enough." 

"  That's  nothing  new,"  said  Ellen,  half  smiling. 
Mason  left  her  ;    and  feeling  the  want  of  something  to  raise  her 
spirits,  Ellen  sorrowfully  went  to  her  Bible,  and  slowly  turning  it 
over,  looked  along  its  pages  to  catch  a  sight  of  something  cheering 
before  she  went  down  stairs. 

"  This  God  is  our  God  for  ever  and  ever  :  he  will  le  our  guide 
even  unto  death." 

"Isn't  that  enough?"  thought  Ellen,  as  her  eyes  filled  in 
answer.  "  It  ought  to  be — John  would  say  it  was — oh !  where 
is  he  !" 

She  went  on  turning  leaf  after  leaf. 

"  0  Lord  of  hosts,  blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in  thee  /" 
"  That  is  true  surely,"  she  thought.  "  And  I  do  trust  in  him— 
I  am  blessed— I  am  happy,  come  what  may.  He  will  let  nothing 
come  to  those  that  trust  in  him  but  what  is  good  for  them — if  he 
is  my  God  I  have  enough  to  make  me  happy — I  ought  to  be 
happy— I  will  be  happy  ! — I  will  trust  him,  and  take  what^he  gives 
me ;  and  try  to  leave,  as  John  used  to  tell  me,  my  affairs  in  his 
hand." 

47* 


558  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

For  a  minute  tears  flowed  ;  then  they  were  wiped  away  ;  and  the 
smile  she  gave  Mr.  Lindsay  when  she  met  him  in  the  hall  was  not 
less  bright  than  usual. 

The  company  were  gathered,  but  it  was  still  early  in  the  evening, 
when  a  gentleman  came  who  declined  to  enter  the  drawing-room, 
and  asked  for  Miss  Lindsay. 
"  Miss  Lindsay  is  engaged." 

"  An'  what  for  suld  ye  say  sae,  Mr.  Porterfield  ?"  cried  the  voice 
of  the  housekeeper,  who  was  passing  in  the  hall,—  "  when  ye  ken 

as  weel  as  I  do  that  Miss  Ellen " 

The  butler  stopped  her  with  saying  something  about  "  my  lady," 
and  repeated  his  answer  to  the  gentleman. 

The  latter  wrote  a  word  or  two  on  a  card  which  he  drew  from 
his  pocket,  and  desired  him  to  carry  it  to  Miss  Ellen.  He  carried 
it  to  Lady  Keith. 

"What  sort  of  a  person,  Porterfield?"  said  Lady  Keith,  crum 
pling  the  paper  in  her  fingers  j  and  withdrawing  a  little  from  the 
company. 

"Uncommon  fine  gentleman,  iny  lady,"  Porterfield  answered  in 
a  low  tone. 

"  A  gentleman  ?"  said  Lady  Keith  inquiringly. 
"  Certain,  my  lady ! — and  as  up  and  down  spoken  as  if  he  was  a 
prince  of  the  blood ;  he's  somebody  that  is  not  accustomed  to  be 
said  '  no'  to,  for  sure." 

Lady  Keith  hesitated.  Recollecting  however  that  she  had  just 
left  Ellen  safe  in  the  music-room,  she  made  up  her  mind ;  and  desired 
Porterfield  to  show  the  stranger  in.  As  he  entered,  unannounced, 
her  eyes  unwillingly  verified  the  butler's  judgment ;  and  to  the 
inquiry  whether  he  might  see  Miss  Lindsay  she  answered  very 
politely,  though  with  regrets  that  Miss  Lindsay  was  engaged. 

"  May  I  be  pardoned  for  asking,"  said  the  stranger,  with  the 
slightest  possible  approach  to  a  smile,  "  whether  that  decision  is 
imperative?  I  leave  Scotland  to-inorrow — my  reasons  for  wishing 
to  see  Miss  Lindsay  this  evening  are  urgent." 

Lady  Keith  could  hardly  believe  her  ears,  or  command  her 
countenance  to  keep  company  with  her  expressions  of  "  sorrow  that 
it  was  impossible — Miss  Lindsay  could  not  have  the  pleasure  that 
evening." 

"  May  I  beg  then  to  know  at  what  hour  I  may  hope  to  see  her 
to-morrow?" 

Hastily  resolving  that  Ellen  should  on  the  morrow  accept  a  long- 
given  invitation,  Lady  Keith  answered  that  "she  would  not  be  in 
town — she  would  leave  Edinburgh  at  an  early  hour." 

The  stranger  bowed  and  withdrew  ;  that  was  all  the  bystanders 
saw.  But  Lady  Keith,  who  had  winced  under  an  eye  that  she 
could  not  help  fancying  read  her  too  well,  saw  that  in  his  parting 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  559 

look  which  made  her  uneasy ;  beckoning  a  servant  who  stood  near, 
she  ordered  him  to  wait  upon  that  gentleman  to  the  door. 

The  man  obeyed ;  but  the  stranger  did  not  take  his  cloak  and 
made  no  motion  to  go. 

"  No,  sir !  not  that  way,"  he  said  sternly,  as  the  servant  laid  his 
hand  on  the  lock  ; — "  show  me  to  Miss  Lindsay  !" 

"  Miss  Ellen  ?"  said  the  man  doubtfully,  coming  back,  and  think 
ing  from  the  gentleman's  manner  that  he  must  have  misunderstood 
Lady  Keith;—"  where  is  Miss  Ellen,  Arthur?" 

The  person  addressed  threw  his  head  back  towards  the  door  he 
had  just  come  from  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 

"This  way,  sir,  if  you  please, — what  name,  sir?" 

"No  name — stand  back  !"  said  the  stranger  as  he  entered. 

There  were  a  number  of  people  gathered  round  a  lady  who  was 
rt  the  piano  singing.  Ellen  was  there  in  the  midst  of  them.  The 
gentleman  advanced  quietly  to  the  edge  of  the  group  and  stood 
there  without  being  noticed;  Ellen's  eyes  were  bent  on  the  floor. 
The  expression  of  her  face  touched  and  pleased  him  greatly  ;  it  was 
precisely  what  he  wished  to  see.  Without  having  the  least  shadow 
of  sorrow  upon  it,  there  was  in  all  its  lines  that  singular  mixture 
of  gravity  and  sweetness  that  is  never  seen  but  where  religion  and 
discipline  have  done  their  work  well ;  the  writing  of  the  wisdom 
that  looks  soberly,  and  the  love  that  looks  kindly,  on  all  things. 
He  was  not  sure  at  first  whether  she  were  intently  listening  to  the 
music,  or  whether  her  mind  was  upon  something  far  different  and 
far  away ;  he  thought  the  latter.  He  was  right.  Ellen  at  the 
moment  had  escaped  from  the  company  and  the  noisy  sounds  of 
the  performer  at  her  side ;  and  while  her  eye  was  curiously  tracing 
out  the  pattern  of  the  carpet,  her  mind  was  resting  itself  in  one  of 
the  verses  she  had  been  reading  that  same  evening.  Suddenly, 
and  as  it  seemed,  from  no  connection  with  any  thing  in  or  out  of 
her  thoughts,  there  came  to  her  mind  the  image  of  John  as  she 
had  seen  him  that  first  evening  she  ever  saw  him,  at  Carra-carra, 
when  she  looked  up  from  the  boiling  chocolate  and  espied  him, — 
standing  in  an  attitude  of  waiting  near  the  door.  Ellen  at  first 
wondered  how  that  thought  should  have  come  into  her  head  just 
then  ;  the  next  moment,  from  a  sudden  impulse,  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  search  for  the  cause  and  saw  John's  smile. 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  the  change  in  Ellen's  face. 
Lightning  makes  as  quick  and  as  brilliant  an  illumination,  but 
lightning  does  not  stay.  With  a  spring  she  reached  him,  and 
seizing  both  his  hands  drew  him  out  of  the  door  near  which  they 
were  standing ;  and  as  soon  as  they  were  hidden  from  view  threw 
herself  into  his  arms  in  an  agony  of  joy.  Before  however  either 
of  them  could  say  a  word,  she  had  caught  his  hand  again,  and  led 
him  back  along  the  hall  to  the  private  staircase ;  she  mounted  it 


560 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 


rapidly  to  her  room ;  and  there  again  she  threw  herself  into  his 
arms,  exclaiming,  "  Oh,  John ! — my  dear  John  !  my  dear  brother  !" 
But  neither  smiles  nor  words  would  do  for  the  overcharged  heart. 
The  tide  of  joy  ran  too  strong,  and  too  much  swelled  from  the  open 
sources  of  love  and  memory,  to  keep  any  bounds.  And  it  kept 
none.  Ellen  sat  down,  and  bowing  her  head  on  the  arm  of  the 
sofa  wept  with  all  the  vehement  passion  of  her  childhood,  quivering 
from  head  to  foot  with  convulsive  sobs.  John  might  guess  from 
the  outpouring  now  how  much  her  heart  had  been  secretly  gather 


ing  for  months  past.  For  a  little  while  he  walked  up  a^d  down 
the  room ;  but  this  excessive  agitation  he  was  not  willing  should 
continue.  He  said  nothing ;  sitting  down  beside  Ellen  on  the  sofa, 
he  quietly  possessed  himself  of  one  of  her  hands ;  and  when  in 
her  excitement  the  hand  struggled  to  get  away  again,  it  was  not 
permitted.  Ellen  understood  that  very  well  and  immediately 
checked  herself.  Better  than  words,  the  calm  firm  grasp  of  his 
hand  quieted  her.  Her  sobbing  stilled ;  she  turned  from  the  arm 
of  the  sofa,  and  leaning  her  head  upon  him  took  his  hand  in  both 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  561 

hers  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips  as  if  she  were  half  beside  herself. 
But  that  was  not  permitted  to  last  either,  for  his  hand  quickly  im 
prisoned  hers  again.  There  was  silence  still.  Ellen  could  not  look' 
up  yet,  and  neither  seemed  very  forward  to  speak ;  she  sat  gradu 
ally  quieting  down  into  fulness  of  happiness. 

"I  thought  you  never  would  come,  John,"  at  .length  Ellen  half 
whispered,  half  said. 

"  And  I  cannot  stay  now.     I  must  leave  you  to-morrow,  Ellen." 

Ellen  started  up  and  looked  up  now. 

"  Leave  me  !     For  how  long  ?     Where  are  you  going  ?" 

«  Home." 

"To  America!" — Ellen's  heart  died  within  her.  Was  this  the 
end  of  all  her  hopes  ?  did  her  confidence  end  here  ?  She  shed  no 
tears  now.  He  could  see  that  she  grew  absolutely  still  from  intense 
feeling. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Ellie  ?"  said  the  low  gentle  tones  she  so 
well  remembered ; — "  I  am  leaving  you  but  for  a  time.  I  must  go 
home  now,  but  if  I  live  you  will  see  me  again." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  was  going  with  you !"  Ellen  exclaimed,  bursting 
into  tears. 

"  My  dear  Ellie  !"  said  her  brother  in  an  altered  voice,  drawing 
her  again  to  his  arms, — "  you  cannot  wish  it  more  than  I !" 

"  I  never  thought  you  would  leave  me  here,  John." 

"Neither  would  I,  if  I  could  help  it;  neither  will  I  a  minute 
longer  than  I  can  help  ;  but  we  must  both  wait,  my  own  Ellie.  Do 
not  cry  so,  for  my  sake  !" 

"  Wait? — till  when?"  said  Ellen,  not  a  little  reassured. 

"  I  have  no  power  now  to  remove  you  from  your  legal  guardians, 
and  you  have  no  right  to  choose  for  yourself ' ' 

"And  when  shall  I?" 

"  In  a  few  years." 

"  A  few  years! — But  in  the  meantime,  John,  what  shall  I  do 
without  you  ? — If  I  could  see  you  once  in  a  while — but  there  is  no 
one  here — not  a  single  one — to  help  me  to  keep  right;  no  one 
talks  to  me  as  you  used  to  ;  and  I  am  all  the  while  afraid  I  shall 
go  wrong  in  something;  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  What  the  weak  must  always  do,  Ellie, — seek  for  strength  where 
it  may  be  had." 

"  And  so  I  do,  John,"  said  Ellen  weeping. — "  but  I  want  you, 

oh  how  much  !" 

"  Are  you  not  happy  here  ?" 

«  Yes— I  am  happy— at  least  I  thought  I  was  half  an  hour  ago, 
— as  happy  as  I  can  be.  I  have  every  thing  to  make  me  happy, 
except  what  would  do  it." 

"  We  must  both  have  recourse  to  our  old  remedy  against  sorrow 
and  loneliness — you  have  not  forgotten  the  use  of  it   Ellie?" 
tt 


562  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

11  No,  John,"  said  Ellen,  meeting  his  eyes  with  a  tearful  smile. 

"  They  love  you  here,  do  they  not?" 

u  Very  much — too  much." 

"  And  you  love  them  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"That's  a  doubtful  'yes.'" 

u  I  do  love  my  father, — very  much  ;  and  my  grandmother  too, 
though  not  so  much.  I  cannot  help  loving  them, — they  love  me 
so.  But  they  are  so  unlike  you  !" 

"  That  is  not  much  to  the  purpose,  after  all,"  said  John  smiling. 
"  There  are  varieties  of  excellence  in  the  world." 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  that  isn't  what  I  mean  ;  it  isn't  a  variety  of  ex 
cellence.  They  make  me  do  every  thing  that  they  have  a  mind, — 
I  don't  mean,"  she  added  smiling,  "  that  that  is  not  like  you, — but 
you  always  had  a  reason ;  they  are  different.  My  father  makes 
me  drink  wine  every  now  and  then, — I  don't  like  to  do  it,  and  he 
knows  I  do  not,  and  I  think  that  is  the  reason  I  have  to  do  it." 

"  That  is  not  a  matter  of  great  importance,  Ellie,  provided  they 
do  not  make  you  do  something  wrong." 

"  They  could  not  do  that  I  hope  :  and  there  is  another  thing 
they  cannot  make  me  do.' 

"  What  is  that?" 

"  Stay  here  when  you  will  take  me  away." 

There  was  a  few  minutes'  thoughtful  pause  on  both  sides. 

"  You  are  grown,  Ellie,"  said  John, — a  you  are  not  the  child  I 
left  you." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  smiling, — "  it  seems  to  me  I  am 
just  the  same." 

"  Let  me  see — look  at  me  !" 

She  raised  her  face,  and  amidst  smiles  and  tears  its  look  was  not 
less  clear  and  frank  than  his  was  penetrating.  "  Just  the  same," 
was  the  verdict  of  her  brother's  eyes  a  moment  afterwards.  Ellen's 
smile  grew  bright  as  she  read  it  there. 

"  Why  have  you  never  come  or  written  before,  John?" 

"  I  did  not  know  where  you  were.  I  have  not  been  in  England 
for  many  months  till  quite  lately,  and  I  could  not  get  your  address. 
I  think  my  father  was  without  it  for  a  long  time,  and  when  at  last 
he  sent  it  to  me,  the  letter  miscarried — never  reached  me — there 
were  delays  upon  delays." 

"  And  when  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"I  preferred  coming  to  writing." 

"  And  now  you  must  go  home  so  soon  !" 

"  I  must,  Ellie.  My  business  has  lingered  on  a  great  while,  and 
it  is  quite  time  I  should  return.  I  expect  to  sail  next  week — Mrs. 
Gillespie  is  going  with  me — her  husband  stays  behind  till  spring." 

Ellen  sighed. 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  563 

"  I  made  a  friend  of  a  friend  of  yours  whom  I  met  in  Switzer 
land  last  summer — M.  Muller." 

"  M.  Muller!  did  you  !  Oh,  I'm  very  glad  !  I  am  very  glad 
you  know  him — he  is  the  best  friend  I  have  got  here,  after  my 
father.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without  him." 

"  I  have  heard  him  talk  of  you,"  said  John  smiling. 

"  He  has  just  come  back ;  he  was  to  be  here  this  evening." 

There  was  a  pause  again. 

"  It  does  not  seem  right  to  go  home  without  you.  Ellie,"  said 
her  brother  then.  "  I  think  you  belong  to  me  more  than  to  any 
body." 

"That  is  exactly  what  I  think!"  said  Ellen  with  one  of  her 
bright  looks,  and  then  bursting  into  tears  ; — "  I  am  very  glad  you 
think  so  too  !  I  will  always  do  whatever  you  tell  me — just  as  I 
used  to — no  matter  what  any  body  else  says." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  try  you  in  two  or  three  things,  Ellie." 

"  Will  you!  in  what?  Oh,  it  would  make  me  so  happy — so 
much  happier — if  I  could  be  doing  something  to  please  you.  I 
wish  I  was  at  home  with  you  again  !" 

"  I  will  bring  that  about,  Ellie,  by  and  by,  if  you  make  your 
words  good." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  then,"  said  Ellen,  her  old  confidence  standing 
stronger  than  ever — "  because  I  know  you  will  if  you  say  so. 
Though  how  you  will  manage  it  I  cannot  conceive.  My  father 
and  grandmother  and  aunt  cannot  bear  to  hear  me  speak  of 
America.  I  believe  they  would  be  glad  if  there  wasn't  such  a 
place  in  the  world.  They  would  not  even  let  me  think  of  it  if 
they  could  help  it ;  I  never  dare  mention  your  name,  or  say  a  word 
about  old  times.  They  are  afraid  of  my  loving  any  body  I 
believe.  They  want  to  have  me  all  to  themselves." 

"  What  will  they  say  to  you  then,  Ellie,  if  you  leave  them  to 
give  yourself  to  me  ?" 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  replied  Ellen, — "  they  must  say  what  they 
please  ;" — and  with  abundance  of  energy,  and  not  a  few  tears,  she 
went  on  ; — "  I  love  them,  but  I  had  given  myself  to  you  a  great 
while  ago  ;  long  before  I  was  his  daughter,  you  called  me  your 
little  sister — I  can't  undo  that,  John,  and  I  don't  want  to — it 
doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference  that  we  were  not  born  so  1" 

John  suddenly  rose  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room. 
Ellen  soon  came  to  his  side,  and  leaning  upon  his  arm  as  she  had 
been  used  to  do  in  past  times,  walked  up  and  down  with  him,  at 
first  silently. 

"  What  is  it  you  wanted  me  to  do,  John?"  she  said  gently  at 
length  ;  "  you  said  '  two  or  three  things.'  " 

"  One  is  that  you  keep  up  a  regular  and  full  correspondence 
with  me." 


564  THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  you  will  let  me  do  that,"  said  Ellen, — 
"  that  is  exactly  what  I  should  like,  but " 

"What?'1 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  not  let  me." 

"I  will  arrange  that." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Ellen  joyously, — "  then  it  will  do.  Oh,  it 
would  make  me  so  happy  !  And  you  will  write  to  me?" 

"  Certainly  !" 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  every  thing  about  myself ;  and  you  will 
tell  me  how  I  ought  to  do  in  all  sorts  of  things  ?  that  will  be  next 
best  to  being  with  you.  And  then  you  will  keep  me  right." 

"  I  won't  promise  you  that,  Ellie,"  said  John  smiling  ; — "  you 
must  learn  to  keep  yourself  right." 

"  I  know  you  will,  though,  however  you  may  smile.  What 
next?" 

"  Read  no  novels." 

"  I  never  do,  John.  I  knew  you  did  not  like  it,  and  I  have 
taken  good  care  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  them.  If  I  had  told 
any  body  why,  though,  they  would  have  made  me  read  a  dozen." 

"  Why  Ellie  !"  said  her  brother, — "  you  must  need  some  care  to 
keep  a  straight  line  where  your  course  lies  now." 

"Indeed  I  do,  John,"  said  Ellen,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears, — 
"  oh  how  I  have  felt  that  sometimes  1  And  then  how  I  wanted 
you!" 

Her  hand  was  fondly  taken  in  his,  as  many  a  time  it  had  been 
of  old,  and  for  a  long  time  they  paced  up  and  down ;  the  conver 
sation  running  sometimes  in  the  strain  that  both  loved  and  Ellen 
now  never  heard  ;  sometimes  on  other  matters ;  such  a  conver 
sation  as  those  she  had  lived  upon  in  former  days,  and  now  drank 
in  with  a  delight  and  eagerness  inexpressible.  Mr.  Lindsay  would 
have  been  in  dismay  to  have  seen  her  uplifted  face,  which,  though 
tears  were  many  a  time  there,  was  sparkling  and  glowing  with  life 
and  joy  in  a  manner  he  had  never  known  it.  She  almost  forgot 
what  the  morrow  would  bring,  in  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  the  in 
stant,  and  hung  upon  every  word  and  look  of  her  brother  as  if  her 
life  were  there. 

"  And  in  a  few  weeks,"  said  Ellen  at  length,  "  you  will  be  in 
our  old  dear  sitting-room  again,  and  riding  on  the  Black  Prince  ! — • 
and  I  shall  be  here  ! — and  it  will  be " 

"  It  will  be  empty  without  you,  Ellie ; — but  we  have  a  friend 
that  is  sufficient ;  let  us  love  him  and  be  patient." 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  be  patient,"  murmured  Ellen.  "  But  dear 
John,  there  was  something  else  you  wanted  me  to  do?  what  is  it? 
you  said  *  two  or  three'  things." 

"  I  will  leave  that  to  another  time." 

"  But  why  ?  I  will  do  it  whatever  it  be — pray  tell  me." 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD.  565 

"No,"  said  he  smiling,* — "not  now, — you  shall  know  by  and  by 
— the  time  is  not  yet.  Have  you  heard  of  your  old  friend  Mr. 
Van  Brunt?" 

"No— what  of  him?" 

"  He  has  come  out  before  the  world  as  a  Christian  man." 

"  Has  he !" 

John  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  opened  it. 

"  You  may  see  what  my  father  says  of  him  ;  and  what  he  says 
of  you  too  Ellie ; — he  has  missed  you  much." 

"Oh.  I  was  afraid  he  would"  said  Ellen, — "I  was  sure  he 
did!" 

She  took  the  letter,  but  she  could  not  see  the  words.  John  told 
her  she  might  keep  it  to  read  at  her  leisure. 

"  And  how  are  they  all  at  Ventnor  ?  and  how  is  Mrs.  Vawse  ? 
and  Margery  ?" 

"  All  well.  Mrs.  Vawse  spends  about  half  her  time  at  my 
father's." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that!" 

"  Mrs.  Marshman  wrote  me  to  bring  you  back  with  me  if  I 
could,  and  said  she  had  a  home  for  you  always  at  Ventnor." 

"How  kind  she  is,"  said  Ellen  ;—"  how  many  friends  I  find 
everywhere.  It  seems  to  me,  John,  that  everybody  almost  loves 
me." 

"  That  is  a  singular  circumstance  !  However,  I  am  no  exception 
to  the  rule,  Ellie." 

"Oh,  I  know  that,"  said  Ellen  laughing.    "And  Mr.  George?" 

"Mr.  George  is  well." 

"How  much  I  love  him!"  said  Ellen.  "  How  much  I  would 
give  to  see  him.  I  wish  you  could  tell  me  about  poor  Captain  and 
the  Brownie,  but  I  don't  suppose  you  have  heard  of  them.  Oh, 
when  I  'think  of  it  all  at  home,  how  I  want  to  be  there ! — Oh, 
John  !  sometimes  lately  I  have  almost  thought  I  should  only  see 
you  again  in  heaven." 

"  My  dear  Ellie !  I  shall  see  you  there,  I  trust ;  but  if  we  live 
we  shall  spend  our  lives  here  together  first.  And  while  we  are 
parted  we  will  keep  as  near  as  possible  by  praying  for  and  writing 
to  each  other.  And  what  God  orders  let  us  quietly  submit  to." 

Ellen  had  much  ado  to  command  herself  at  the  tone  of  these 
words  and  John's  manner,  as  he  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her  brow  and  lips.  She  strove  to  keep  back  a  show  of  feeling  that 
would  distress  and  might  displease  him.  But  the  next  moment 
her  fluttering  spirits  were  stilled  by  hearing  the  few  soft  words  of 
a  prayer  that  he  breathed  over  her  head.  It  was  a  prayer  for  her 
and  for  himself,  and  one  of  its  petitions  was  that  they  might  be 
kept  to  see  each  other  again.  Ellen  wrote  the  words  on  her 
heart. 


566  THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD. 

11  Are  you  going?" 

He  showed  his  watch. 

"  Well,  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  !" 

"Shall  you  be  here?" 

"  Certainly — where  else  should  I  be?  What  time  must  you  set 
out?" 

"  I  need  not  till  afternoon,  but — How  early  can  I  see  you?" 

"  As  early  as  you  please.  Oh,  spend  all  the  time  with  me  you 
can,  John !" 

So  it  was  arranged. 

"  And  now,  Ellie,  you  must  go  down  stairs  and  present  me  to 
Mr.  Lindsay." 

11  To  my  father !" 

For  a  moment  Ellen's  face  was  a  compound  of  expressions.  She 
instantly  acquiesced  however,  and  went  down  with  her  brother,  her 
heart  it  must  be  confessed  going  very  pit-a-pat  indeed.  She  took 
him  into  the  library  which  was  not  this  evening  thrown  open  to 
company  ;  and  sent  a  servant  for  Mr.  Lindsay.  While  waiting  for 
his  coming,  Ellen  felt  as  if  she  had  not  the  fair  use  of  her  senses. 
Was  that  John  Humphreys  quietly  walking  up  and  down  the  li 
brary?  Mr.  Lindsay's  library?  and  was  she  about  to  introduce 
her  brother  to  the  person  who  had  forbidden  her  to  mention  his 
name?  There  was  something  however  in  Mr.  John's  figure  and 
air,  in  his  utter  coolness,  that  insensibly  restored  her  spirits.  Tri 
umphant  confidence  in  him  overcame  the  fear  of  Mr.  Lindsay  ;  and 
when  he  appeared,  Ellen  with  tolerable  composure  met  him,  her 
hand  upon  John's  arm,  and  said,  "  Father,  this  is  Mr.  Humphreys," 
— my  brother  she  dared  not  add. 

"  I  hope  Mr.  Lindsay  will  pardon  my  giving  him  this  trouble," 
said  the  latter; — "  we  have  one  thing  in  common  which  should 
forbid  our  being  strangers  to  each  other.  I,  at  least,  was  Unwilling 
to  leave  Scotland  without  making  myself  known  to  Mr.  Lindsay." 

Mr.  Lindsay  most  devoutly  wished  the  "thing  in  common"  had 
been  anything  else.  He  bowed,  and  was  "happy  to  have  the 
pleasure,"  but  evidently  neither  pleased  nor  happy.  Ellen  could 
see  that. 

"  May  I  take  up  five  minutes  of  Mr.  Lindsay's  time  to  explain, 
perhaps  to  apologize,"  said  John,  slightly  smiling, — "  for  what  I 
have  said?" 

A  little  ashamed,  it  might  be,  to  have  his  feeling  suspected,  Mr. 
Lindsay  instantly  granted  the  request,  and  politely  invited  his  un 
welcome  guest  to  be  seated.  Obeying  a  glance  from  her  brother 
which  ,he  understood,  Ellen  withdrew  to  the  further  side  of  the 
room,  wnere  she  could  not  hear  what  they  said.  John  took  up  the 
history  jf  Ellen's  acquaintance  with  his  family,  and  briefly  gave  it 
to  Mr.  Lindsay,  scarce  touching  on  the  benefits  by  them  conferred 


THE    WIDE,    WIDE    WORLD.  567 

on  her,  and  skilfully  dwelling  rather  on  Ellen  herself  and  setting 
forth  what  she  had  been  to  them.  Mr.  Lindsay  could  not  be  un 
conscious  of  what  his  visitor  delicately  omitted  to  hint  at,  neither 
could  he  help  making  secretly  to  himself  some  most  unwilling  ad 
missions  ;  and  though  he  might  wish  the  speaker  at  the  antipodes, 
and  doubtless  did,  yet  the  sketch  was  too  happily  given,  and  his 
fondness  for  Ellen  too  great,  for  him  not  to  be  delightedly  interested 
in  what  was  said  of  her.  And  however  strong  might  have  been 
his  desire  to  dismiss  his  guest  in  a  very  summary  manner,  or  to 
treat  him  with  haughty  reserve,  the  graceful  dignity  of  Mr. 
Humphreys'  manners  made  either  expedient  impossible.  Mr. 
Lindsay  felt  constrained  to  meet  him  on  his  own  ground — the 
ground  of  high-bred  frankness ;  and  grew  secretly  still  more  afraid 
that  his  real  feelings  should  be  discerned. 

Ellen  from  afar,  where  she  could  not  hear  the  words,  watched 
the  countenances  with  great  anxiety  and  great  admiration.  She 
could  see  that  while  her  brothel  spoke  with  his  usual  perfect  ease, 
Mr.  Lindsay  was  embarrassed.  She  half  read  the  truth.  She  saw 
the  entire  politeness  where  she  also  saw  the  secret  discomposure, 
and  she  felt  that  the  politeness  was  forced  from  him.  As  the  con 
versation  went  on,  however,  she  wonderingly  saw  that  the  cloud  on 
his  brow  lessened, — she  saw  him  even  smile  ;  and  when  at  last  they 
rose,  and  she  drew  near,  she  almost  thought  her  ears  were  playing 
her  false  when  she  heard  Mr.  Lindsay  beg  her  brother  to  go  in 
with  him  to  the  company  and  be  presented  to  Mrs.  Lindsay.  After 
a  moment's  hesitation  this  invitation  was  accepted,  and  they  went 
together  into  the  drawing-room. 

Ellen  felt  as  if  she  was  in  a  dream.  With  a  face  as  grave  as 
usual,  but  with  an  inward  exultation  and  rejoicing  in  her  brother 
impossible  to  describe,  she  saw  him  going  about  among  the  com 
pany, — talking  to  her  grandmother, — yes  and  her  grandmother  did 
not  look  less  pleasant  than  usual, — recognizing  M.  Muller,  and  in 
conversation  with  other  people  whom  he  knew.  With  indescribable 
glee  Ellen  saw  that  Mr.  Lindsay  managed  most  of  the  time  to  be 
of  the  same  group.  Never  more  than  that  night  did  she  trium 
phantly  think  that  Mr.  John  could  do  any  thing.  He  finished  the 
evening  there.  Ellen  took  care  not  to  seem  too  much  occupied 
with  him  ;  but  she  contrived  to  be  near  when  he  was  talking  with 
M.  Muller,  and  to  hang  upon  her  father's  arm  when  he  was  in  Mr. 
John's  neighbourhood.  And  when  the  latter  had  taken  leave,  and 
was  in  the  hall,  Ellen  was  there  before  he  could  be  gone.  And 
there  came  Mr.  Lindsay  too  behind  her ! 

"  You  will  come  early  to-morrow  morning,  Jo^.n  ?" 

"  Come  to  breakfast,  Mr.  Humphreys,  will  you  ?"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay,  with  sufficient  cordiality. 

But  Mr.    Humphreys  declined  this  invitation,  in   spite  of  the 


568  THE   WIDE,   WIDE    WORLD. 

timid  touch  of  Ellen's  fingers  upon  his  arm,  which  begged  for  a 
different  answer. 

"I  will  be  with  you  early,  Ellie,"  he  said  however. 

"And  oh!  John,"  said  Ellen  suddenly,  "order  a  horse  and  let 
us  have  one  ride  together ;  let  me  show  you  Edinburgh." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "  let  us  show  you  Edin 
burgh  ;  but  order  no  horses,  Mr.  Humphreys,  for  mine  are  at  your 
service." 

Ellen's  other  hand  was  gratefully  laid  upon  her  father's  arm  as 
this  second  proposal  was  made  and  accepted. 

"  Let  us  show  you  Edinburgh,"  said  Ellen  to  herself,  as  she  and 
Mr.  Lindsay  slowly  and  gravely  went  back  through  the  hall.  "  So 
there  is  an  end  of  my  fine  morning ! — But  however,  how  foolish  I 
am !  John  has  his  own  ways  of  doing  things — he  can  make  it 
pleasant  in  spite  of  every  thing." 

She  went  to  bed,  not  to  sleep  indeed,  for  a  long  time,  but  to  cry 
for  joy  and  all  sorts  of  feelings  at  once. 

Good  came  out  of  evil,  as  it  often  does,  and  as  Ellen's  heart 
presaged  it  would  when  she  arose  the  next  morning.  The  ride  was 
preceded  by  half  an  hour's  chat  between  Mr.  John,  Mr.  Lindsay, 
and  her  grandmother ;  in  which  the  delight  of  the  evening  before 
was  renewed  and  confirmed.  Ellen  was  obliged  to  look  down  to 
hide  the  too  bright  satisfaction  she  felt  was  shining  in  her  face. 
She  took  no  part  in  the  conversation,  it  was  enough  to  hear.  She 
sat  with  charmed  ears,  seeing  her  brother  overturning  all  her 
father's  and  grandmother's  prejudices,  and  making  his  own  way  to 
their  respect  at  least,  in  spite  of  themselves.  Her  marvelling  still 
almost  kept  even  pace  with  her  joy.  "I  knew  he  would  do  what 
he  pleased,"  she  said  to  herself, — "  I  knew  they  could  not  help 
that ;  but  I  did  not  dream  he  would  ever  make  them  like  him, — 
that  I  never  dreamed  !" 

On  the  ride  again,  Ellen  could  not  wish  that  her  father  were  not 
with  them.  She  wished  for  nothing  ;  it  was  all  a  maze  of  pleasure, 
which  there  was  nothing  to  mar  but  the  sense  that  she  would  by 
and  by  wake  up  and  find  it  was  a  dream.  And  no,  not  that  either. 
It  was  a  solid  good  and  blessing,  which  though  it  must  come  to  an 
end,  she  should  never  lose.  For  the  present  there  was  hardly  any 
tiling  to  be  thought  of  but  enjoyment.  She  shrewdly  guessed 
that  Mr.  Lindsay  would  have  enjoyed  it  too,  but  for  herself;  there 
was  a  little  constraint  about  him  still,  she  could  see.  There  was 
none  about  Mr.  John ;  in  the  delight  of  his  words  and  looks  and 
presence,  Ellen  half  the  time  forgot  Mr.  Lindsay  entirely  ;  she 
had  enough  of  them ;  she  did  not  for  one  moment  wish  Mr.  Lind 
say  had  less. 

At  last  the  long  beautiful  ride  came  to  an  end ;  and  the  rest  of 
the  morning  soon  sped  away,  though  as  Ellen  had  expected  she 


THE    WIDE,   WIDE   WORLD. 

was  not  permitted  to  spend  any  part  of  it  alone  with  her  brother. 
Mr.  Lindsay  asked  him  to  dinner,  but  this  was  declined. 

Not  till  long  after  he  was  gone  did  Ellen  read  Mr.  Humphreys' 
letter.  One  bit  of  it  may  be  given. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  lately  joined  our  little  church.  This  has 
given  me  great  pleasure.  He  had  been  a  regular  attendant  for  a 
long  time  before.  He  ascribes  much  to  your  instrumentality ;  but 
says  his  first  thoughts  (earnest  ones)  on  the  subject  of  religion 
were  on  the  occasion  of  a  tear  that  fell  from  Ellen's  eye  upon  his 
hand  one  day  when  she  was  talking  to  him  about  the  matter.  He 
never  got  over  the  impression.  In  his  own  words,  '  it  scared  him  !' 
That  was  a  dear  child !  I  did  not  know  how  dear  till  I  had  lost 
her.  I  did  not  know  how  severely  I  should  feel  her  absence  ;  nor 
had  I  the  least  notion  when  she  was  with  us  of  many  things 
respecting  her  that  I  have  learnt  since.  I  half  hoped  we  should 
yet  have  her  back,  but  that  will  not  be.  I  shall  be  glad  to  see 
you,  'my  son." 

The  correspondence  with  John  was  begun  immediately,  and  was 
the  delight  of  Ellen's  life.  Mrs.  Lindsay  and  her  daughter  wished 
to  put  a  stop  to  it ;  but  Mr.  Lindsay  dryly  said  that  Mr.  Hum 
phreys  had  frankly  spoken  of  it  before  him,  and  as  he  made  no 
objection  then  he  could  not  now. 

Ellen  puzzled  herself  a  little  to  think  what  could  be  the  third 
thing  John  wanted  of  her  j  but  whatever  it  were,  she  was  very 
sure  she  would  do  it ! 

For  the  gratification  of  those  who  are  never  satisfied,  one  word 
shall  be  added,  to  wit,  that 

The  seed  so  early  sown  in  little  Ellen's  mind,  and  so  carefully 
tended  by  sundry  hands,  grew  in  course  of  time  to  all  the  fair 
structure  and  comely  perfection  it  had  bid  fair  to  reach — storms 
and  winds  that  had  visited  it  did  but  cause  the  root  to  take 
deeper  hold ; — and  at  the  point  of  its  young  maturity  it  happily 
fell  again  into  those  hands  that  had  of  all  been  most  successful  in 
its  culture. — In  other  words,  to  speak  intelligibly,  Ellen  did  in  no 
wise  disappoint  her  brother's  wishes,  nor  he  hers.  Three  or  four 
more  years  of  Scottish  discipline  wrought  her  no  ill ;  they  did  but 
serve  to  temper  and  beautify  her  Christian  character ;  and  then,  to 
her  unspeakable  joy,  she  went  back  to  spend  her  life  with  the 
friends  and  guardians  she  best  loved,  and  to  be  to  them,  still  more 
than  she  had  been  to  her  Scottish  relations,  "  the  light  of  the  eyes." 


THE   END. 


MISS  CAREY'S  STORIES 

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THE  GIRL'S   OWN  1N-DOOR  BOOK. 


Containing  Practical  Help 
to  Girls  on  all  matters 
relating  to  their  Mate 
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Being. 

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THE  GIRL'S  OWN  OUT-DOOR  BOOK. 

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Contents  .-—GIRLHOOD— Our-DooR  RECREATIONS— THE  SEA-SIDE— 
OUR  SUMMER  HOLIDAYS — HOLIDAY  NEEDLE- WORK — SOCIAL 
AMUSEMENTS  —  ETIQUETTE  —  TRAVELLING  —  SHOPPING  AND 
MARKETING — THE  GARDENER — FOWL  REARING — THE  BOT 
ANIST—THE  ORNITHOLOGIST— KNICK-KNACKS  MADE  FROM 
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Music — CHRISTIAN  WORK. 

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TWO  SOLDIERS,  AND  DUNRAVEN  RANCH. 

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